So yesterday I was cursing the fact that my home office lacks AC, but today I was counting my blessings for having the freedom to work from home: Caroline came downstairs with excruciating muscle pain, so we saw the doctor and are waiting to see how things develop with her today but if they don’t improve, it’ll be tests.
But working from home also means being close to the Hayward Fault Line and today we felt two big jolts, which reminded me that living on the edge is just a way of life in California.
Nursing Home Wiener continues: Teddy had some off days (may have been the heat) and Frankie’s losing so much hair that before you know it, he’ll look like one of those scary naked cats.
Another vet appointment tomorrow.
His gait is also quite unsteady and when he descends the kitchen stairs, he doesn’t jump like his former self, but lets himself drop down the stairs, letting gravity take its course. It sounds like a bag of potatoes spilling down the stairs and it looks pitiful. Poor guy. At least I have one “patient” who can talk– the other two are awfully silent, unless they see cats or smell BBQ.
And then there is work; I have a humongo job to do in July and in the few spare moments, I’m still working on my campus novel to get it ready for publication. I also need to update you on Henry Miller… but where’s the time?
Yesterday, I got a call from an old friend with whom I worked at Rosetta Stone, and he just got his PhD at Duke and in between career advice and talking about Europe, we couldn’t help but trash academia and all the unethical things we’ve seen happening on our bucolic campuses. I mean, today another story broke about the former Chancellor at UC Berkeley who is getting sued by his housekeeper (for telling her to hide income from the IRS). The Dean of the Law School was sued too because he liked to cuddle a bit too much with his personal assistant (and you should see the guy, eek) but as far as I know, he’s still gainfully employed. The CEO (and fellow scumbag) at Uber on the other hand was forced to resign this week. Clearly, actions have no consequences when tenure is your last name.
To switch topics, I’m jealous of Will who’s Eurotripping all over the Old World and seems to do some modeling on the side:
What can I say? When I was young, I don’t think I realized how good it felt to be young and have a fab body. Now the excess pounds have taken hostage of my waist since entering menopause. With my chronic shortage of time, I wish I could get some time back by trading in those pounds. Men just start to look leaner and more suave at this age– and yes, those little wisps of grey hair give them the maturity and gravitas we’ve been wanting to see in them long ago, like when we were dating them.
We, on the other hand, morph into bags of bones, double chins (horrors), bags over our eyes that make people ask Are you sick? or Are you tired? to which I want to reply: No bitch, I’m just getting old… And omg we sweat like everyone’s worst hot flash.
No wonder some men trade us in for Maseratis.
But I can’t feel sorry for myself because when I look at Frankie, and I see those pathetic grey patches of bald, wrinkly skin and the hair he’s dropping like he’s doing chemo, I know there’s no need to despair, because I still have great hair.
(I’m being facetious here…)