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There was a minor family crisis today that consumed the time I’d planned to spend writing and watching Carlos Alcaraz and Rafael Nadal play doubles together at the Olympics. If Crankenstein attends church tomorrow as planned, I should have a couple free hours to throw something together. Fortunately, my sibling is fine. Unfortunately, this has […]

After hitting ‘publish’ on last night’s post, I tucked Muriel in — ours is a well-oiled routine by now, from the four things I always tell her at bedtime to the way she rolls over and sleepily raises her front paws to encourage a few more chest rubs — and went upstairs to prepare for

For the second night in a row I’m fuzzy-headed and slightly peevish and probably not the best company. I’ll try harder tomorrow, but just did us all a favor by deleting a rant about a vice-presidential candidate whose Wikipedia page will eventually include a section called “Allegations of Couch-F*cking.”* Most of today’s irritations were medical

I thought about not posting tonight rather than feigning cheer, and then I remembered my user name here is ‘Cranky’ and, with a sigh, started typing. It wasn’t a bad day, just a long one again spent catching up on things that were disrupted by illness earlier this month. By the time Crankenstein got home

Though I’m sure you’re all dying to hear about the trekking poles that finally arrived today (and whether I’ve managed to impale myself on one yet), there is nothing to report — nothing, that is, other than I’m sick of having to prise open recalcitrant objects with undexterous hands. It started a couple years ago

There was a lot that I needed to catch up on today, and it still feels like I’m hopelessly behind, but I kicked things off this morning with a 1.5 mile walk. The PT said to limit myself to a mile at a time for now, since I’m usually dragging my left leg and shaking

This was a frustrating day physically but a rewarding one on another front, when a cranky autistic toddler who dislikes almost everyone unexpectedly befriended me. Younger kids don’t always know what to make of me, which I suspect is mostly a byproduct of my (old) monotone and (newish) hypomimia; they prefer more excitement and enthusiasm

My new planner arrived today, with an assortment of stickers I largely have no use for (coffee cups, Stuart Smalley affirmations) and pages I’ll leave blank (vision boards, mind maps and other things meant for UGG-wearing women who’ve attended Rachel Hollis seminars). I also spotted Buncha Crunch at the store for the first time in

“What did you think of the ENT?” Crankenstein asked when she called on her lunch break. “He was nice, I guess, but it seemed like he might be a jerk,” I replied. There was nothing in particular I could point to — he’d been perfectly professional and I respected the subtle ways he assisted the

I’d just taken a seat in the PT’s waiting room when my phone buzzed: “Unknown Caller,” the screen read, and I sent it to voicemail. The garbled transcript said to please to call the ENT’s office. My guess was there’d been a waitlist snafu, since my August appointment had recently been moved up to the