There were lots of opportunities for sharing and for baring your soul at the Event last weekend. I'm not sure why I decided to answer Monique's question about what you would do if you had all the money in the world and no fear of failing the way I did, but I was completely serious. I would open a car wash. And not because I like to wash cars. But because of childhood memories...it's not important now to explain this story, but I will say that I felt a little petty and self absorbed when all of the other emotional women started talking about how they would cure breast cancer and feed the hungry. Oh. That. I would do that, too. But I would open my car wash first. And don't you think breast cancer would already be cured if all the money in the world would fix it?
Along those same lines - my car is GROSS today. I think I will get it washed this weekend. "Gross" is a relative term. If you have children, your car is much more gross than mine. Get it washed. And vacuumed.
So it occurred to me a few days ago that my shoulder and neck have been hurting for weeks. I mean, I know I have been hurting, but I've just been popping Tylenol and moving on. Well, someone has now freaked me out about the amount of Tylenol I take and lately the pain is getting worse and worse. (I'm setting up a story here - not listing maladies...when I start listing maladies in every blog entry just go ahead and kill me.) In order to see a specialist, I knew I would need a referral and I also knew I wouldn't have time to go to the GP just for that. I don't even really have a GP. What to do? Well, I saw my allergist earlier in the week and cleverly posed the question, "What kind of doctor do you see when your shoulder hurts so bad you want to throw up?" She wrote me a referral. I'm clever that way.
I found a specialist yesterday, but the soonest he can see me is May 13th. How crazy is that? Anyway, I had to stay on the phone forever with the receptionist to give her all of my contact, insurance and personal information just to set up the appointment. Near the end of our conversation she said, "Now, are you an athlete?" (Insert hysterical laughter from me at this point.) "No," I replied, "I am a scrapbooker."
I wonder if they would have seen me sooner if I had answered that question differently? I guess I'm really not so clever after all.