I had an endoscopy yesterday to check for an ulcer, which I do have. Fortunately for those of us who have to have outpatient procedures now, someone discovered (or invented) fentynol and versed. They tell me the patient doesn't go to sleep, just forgets what he's experienced. Whatever--I'm glad they use it.
I do wonder how they discovered it? Did someone accidentally mix a couple of compounds, take it himself or administer it to a mouse? How would he know if the mouse forgot? I guess I don't have to know as long as they keep using it on me when I have to go in for a medical procedure.
Our lives consist of large and small events--mostly small, thank goodness. A big one was when I moved from the place I'd lived for 22 years and remarried. A small one is the fact that my eyebrows are kind of bushy. After many years of having them waxed, I gave it up. The lady who was doing the waxing kept getting one side a lot narrower than the other. Along with letting the grey come back in my hair, I'm letting my eyebrows grow out. For me, Tony Romo's broken pinkie isn't a big event. For him, it is.
A friend sent an email yesterday concerned about our country and the changes we've seen in our lifetime. Politics, lack of courtesy, locked doors, the economy. . . I'd add terrorism and the media. (Wait! Are they one and the same?) I agree with this friend's concerns, but with the ulcer (I refuse to call it "my ulcer.") caused by stress and Advil, I can't go there right now. I'd rather think about the man who gave my husband two one dollar stamps at the post office yesterday.
USPS gave half their people the choice to take early retirement, and they aren't re-hiring. Our post office always has a line out the door and only one worker. Yesterday, when Reid went to mail our early ballots, a gentleman opened his wallet and gave Reid two dollar stamps so he wouldn't have to wait in line.
I'd rather think about the full moon. Why is it when we see the full moon, we always say, "There's a full moon," and we marvel at it's beauty? The moon is full right now.
The glass is half full most of the time--or half empty. It's all the same. It's just the way we look at it. We can't change much, and it does upset us, but as a friend said: If you have a place to live and food to eat and no one in your family is dying of cancer, life is good. I like those words. It doesn't make my stomach hurt to think that way.