However you celebrate Yule, I hope you have a great time!
The house is quieter again now. Richard's upstairs playing with his new toy, a gadget which records old LP records onto CD--some of those ancient albums are too valuable to play now, he says, especially his original Queen and similar. The market value of these things not something I know anything about.
And Cat's just set off for home--her shared student home--and in the morning her father will collect her and drive her home for the Xmas break from Uni. She's already talking about studying for a PhD. She's got to get this BsC first! And then a full-time job (rather than the part-time waitress job she already has.)
I'm pleased she's aiming towards a constructive goal; at her age, I hadn't a clue what I wanted to do--not due to a lack of interests but because I had so many. I had no idea how to specialise in just one interest when so many diverse and seemingly contradictory subjects held appeal. Plus the advice available to me was tunnel-visioned at best.
Within me lurks an evil genii which clamours for chocolate the second I’m out of the dentist’s door….
Today he removed a prehistoric filling which he couldn’t find anything wrong with. He said there was no decay beneath it either, but the tooth had developed a sharp twinge. So he put in a lining (whatever one of those may be) and refilled it, and invited me to return if the tooth continues to be a pest.
So now I’m back at home, sipping Chai and nibbling on a Thornton’s dark continental. Two, even. I deserve a treat for facing the ordeal of the anaesthetic. I say so, anyway.
Ok, I know it’s irrational, illogical, bla bla bla, but I have a major phobia of needles. Once the injection’s out of the way, I’m fine--but a lot of yogic breathing and similar goes on before and during, which goes a long way towards controlling pulse rate and temperature.
The nutty thing is that I’ve spent the last eighteen months talking Cat into going to the dentist. But a person has to attend to these things; it’s all part of the joys of being a responsible adult (or so I told her, while trying not to convey my own trepidation!)
The house is quieter again now. Richard's upstairs playing with his new toy, a gadget which records old LP records onto CD--some of those ancient albums are too valuable to play now, he says, especially his original Queen and similar. The market value of these things not something I know anything about.
And Cat's just set off for home--her shared student home--and in the morning her father will collect her and drive her home for the Xmas break from Uni. She's already talking about studying for a PhD. She's got to get this BsC first! And then a full-time job (rather than the part-time waitress job she already has.)
I'm pleased she's aiming towards a constructive goal; at her age, I hadn't a clue what I wanted to do--not due to a lack of interests but because I had so many. I had no idea how to specialise in just one interest when so many diverse and seemingly contradictory subjects held appeal. Plus the advice available to me was tunnel-visioned at best.
Within me lurks an evil genii which clamours for chocolate the second I’m out of the dentist’s door….
Today he removed a prehistoric filling which he couldn’t find anything wrong with. He said there was no decay beneath it either, but the tooth had developed a sharp twinge. So he put in a lining (whatever one of those may be) and refilled it, and invited me to return if the tooth continues to be a pest.
So now I’m back at home, sipping Chai and nibbling on a Thornton’s dark continental. Two, even. I deserve a treat for facing the ordeal of the anaesthetic. I say so, anyway.
Ok, I know it’s irrational, illogical, bla bla bla, but I have a major phobia of needles. Once the injection’s out of the way, I’m fine--but a lot of yogic breathing and similar goes on before and during, which goes a long way towards controlling pulse rate and temperature.
The nutty thing is that I’ve spent the last eighteen months talking Cat into going to the dentist. But a person has to attend to these things; it’s all part of the joys of being a responsible adult (or so I told her, while trying not to convey my own trepidation!)
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