I really wanted to go on the trip to attend Beth Moore’s conference in Atlanta last weekend — mainly because I wanted to escape “normal” life for a couple of days and just get away with my friends — but I knew my main doctor might not be up for it.  He gave me a shot of steroids, put me on oral steroids and told me that if I promised to rest while I wasn’t at the conference, I could go.

The shot hurt like crazy, but I kept reminding myself that seeing Beth’s hair in person would be worth it.  You think I’m joking but the nurse and I actually had a conversation about Beth’s hair whilst I was receiving the shot in my ba-donk-a-donk.  If that doesn’t prove my commitment to properly honoring big hair, I don’t know what could.

When I arrived in Atlanta on Friday evening, I headed over to a hotel to say hello to some people who read this little blog.  I would like you to know that I most definitely showed up to meet them wearing my pajamas with my hair thrown back and no make-up on while everyone else in the room was looking absolutely darling with their cute outfits and hairstyles.  Nothing says “hello, it’s nice to meet you and thank you for reading my hot pink blog and emailing me nice comments” like a messy ponytail and lack of eyeshadow, now does it?

Cousin Cate had come to Atlanta with me and, late Friday night, our friends Cara and Caroline joined us as well.  We headed to the conference early Saturday morning where Katie and her friend Courtney joined us, too.  Now, this is the part of the post where I should tell you about all the spiritual things Beth spoke about, but please, let’s keep our priorities in order here.

Her hair was huge. She had it pulled back in this little “bump” in the front and it was just magnificent. Cate and I were in the main room for the sessions but, during the lunch break, she came into the overflow chapel and did a short question and answer session while we were talking to the other girls in our group.  I so wanted to go to the microphone and ask about her hair, but everyone was asking serious questions so I kept my mouth shut even though my friends told me I was crazy for not speaking up.

But, lo, the Lord had other plans for Beth’s hair and I.

As Cate and I are walking down one of the hallways after the conference ended, a small group of people start walking towards us but I don’t even see them because I’m too busy talking to Cate when suddenly Cate goes “Well, there’s Beth Moore!”

And, lo, there was Beth Moore AND HER HAIR.

I’m just standing there, frozen, knowing this is my one chance in life to speak to my favorite author, favorite speaker and second-favorite hair owner (I know a girl in real life who has hair even better than Beth’s, I’m sorry to say).  I’m trying to figure out how to tell her how much her writing has meant to me before her bodyguard whisks her away when, out of nowhere, the following comes barreling out of my mouth at a very high volume to my hero standing a mere three feet from me:

“BETH MOORE, I LOVE YOUR BIG HAIR.”

I am not even joking, y’all.  My one opportunity to say something to one of my heroes AND I TOLD HER I LOVE HER BIG HAIR.  THAT IS WHAT I SAID.  TO ONE OF MY HEROES OF THE FAITH.  THAT IS WHAT I SAID.

To Beth’s credit, she didn’t take off running in the opposite direction of the weird girl who was yelling about her hair but instead, AND I KID YOU NOT, looked at me and said “Well, I love your darling headband!”

May we all observe a moment of silence for what transpired in that hallway?

Beth and I (you don’t think she minds me calling her by her first name since we’re totally bff’s now, right?) had a hair moment right there in that hallway.  WE HAD OURSELVES A HAIR MOMENT.  I complimented her hair, she complimented my headband.  Granted, it wasn’t like she said “My, random young girl in your twenties, what high hair you have!” but, in her defense, I totally failed at achieving big hair that day mainly because the hotel room I stayed in had a king-sized bed and, even though Cate was in it with me, it’s like she didn’t even exist because I just slept however I wanted, maybe even diagonally because the bed was that big, AND CAN A GIRL BE EXPECTED TO LEAVE A BED SITUATION LIKE THAT TO FIX HER HAIR?

In my own defense, it wasn’t like I hadn’t come prepared for big hair or something ridiculous like that.

That’s right.  Instead of just packing my velcro rollers, I just put the whole container of hair products right there in my suitcase so I could just work on my hair wherever my suitcase was to take me.  And yet I fell captive to my own desires for extra sleep and chose not to fix my hair that day, instead substituting a headband that I hoped would distract those around me from noticing my limp, lifeless hair.

And I did it on the day I met my hair hero.  For the love, Amy Beth, FOR THE LOVE.

I feel like the only way to properly share my sadness about this epic failure of mine is to do so through song.  I consulted Justin Bieber’s current hits, but came up empty handed; apparently Justin, at the young age of 11, 12, 16, has yet to experience the feelings of defeat that come with having flat hair in the presence of your hair hero.

Other songs I considered to express my sorrow:

1. Next Time I Fall in Love by Peter Cetera and Amy Grant.  Original lyrics?  “The next time I fall in love, I’ll know better what to do.”  My edited version?  “The next time I meet Beth Moore as if there’s ever going to be another chance once she finds out I was the freak yelling about her hair in the hallway, I’ll know better how to fix my hair.”

2. Hero by Mariah Carey.  Original lyrics?  “The Lord knows dreams are hard to follow but don’t let anyone tear them away.”  My edited version?  “The Lord knows big hair is hard to manage, but don’t let oversleeping flatten it when you’re attending an inspirational conference with Beth Moore as the main speaker because this might be the very day you meet her in a hallway.”

3.  Actually, I don’t have a third song for you because I was going to use Baby Got Back by Sir Mix-A-Lot but when I read through the lyrics, I found myself unable to use them due to descriptive phrases involving the size and shape of some unidentified rap singer’s girlfriend’s ba-donk-a-donk.  But just keep in mind that I was going to take the whole “I like big butts and I cannot lie” and transpose it with “I like big hair and I cannot lie.”  It was going to be magical.  MAGICAL.

All I can hope is that, by me sharing this story of my utter failure at big hair in the presence of the ultimate big hair, you will learn from my mistakes and will not believe the lie that a few extra minutes of sleep is worth ruining your chance to celebrate the wonders of big hair with your hair hero in a hallway of some church in Georgia.

Now, go forth and learn from my mistakes one velcro roller at a time.

I woke up this morning only to find that my company’s email system was down, so work is a wee bit stunted.  I’ve spent the morning working on what I can (which is very limited — how did anything get done before email existed?) as well as doing some laundry and being generally lazy.  You call it resting, I call it laziness.  Type A personality, much?

One of the puppies was acting darling this morning, so I took a picture with my phone to show you.  As I was going through the library of pictures on my phone, I saw a few I thought you might like.  And so, my recent life as captured by my iPhone –

My hospital sleeping accommodations whilst staying in the PICU ranged from the comfortable…

to the awkward…

to, well, the floor.

Notice how I made myself a mattress out of blankets.  Clever, right?

I may carry a hot pink purse, but no one can accuse me of being prissy.

– — –

Remember that Friday night that I had the sleepover for my college girls?

The next morning, I went over to the local hospital because Olivia’s sisters were there, running high fevers.

Meet Angelina and Juliana, affectionately known as Nene and Juju.

Everyone calls Olivia “Olly” as in “Olly-roly-poly.”  Yes, it’s as cute as it sounds.

– — –

As I was driving up to the PICU that Saturday afternoon, I stopped at Target for a couple of essential supplies –

namely pink socks for Olivia and a little bow for her hair, too.

Was she sedated?  Well, yes.  But did she know the bow was there?  I like to think so.

– — –

It wouldn’t be a trip to Atlanta without Cousin Cate along for the ride.

I’m sorry, male readers, she’s already engaged.  Better luck next time?

– — –

Stephanie, my college girl, rocking pulmonary embolism…

… in what, I’m sure, is a feeble attempt to avoid having to take her final exams.

Tsk, tsk Stephanie.  Tsk, tsk.

– — –

And, finally, I have now discovered what the puppies do whilst I’m at work all day.

I think I’ll go join them for an afternoon nap.

– — –

Oh, and get excited — tomorrow morning I’m going to tell you a true story

involving Beth Moore’s hair, my big mouth and a really cute headband from H & M.

Well, it’s definitely the mono again.  I began a fever late last night and it just went downhill from there.  I went into the office early this morning to grab some files I needed and then I spent the rest of the day alternating between working from my bed and sleeping.  Since last night, I’ve slept about 15 hours and could probably sleep a few more if I’d let myself.  I’m writing this on Wednesday evening and I’m running another fever which means I’ll be working from home tomorrow, too, so that I don’t run the risk of making anyone else sick.

I’ve been home alone all day today, so I’m in the mood to talk.  This might be a long one.

– — –

I’m in a really awful mood today and have been for the majority of the day.  Part of it comes from feeling guilty; did going to Atlanta last weekend and staying in the hospital a couple of nights ago trigger this relapse?  Maybe it did.  Maybe I brought this on myself and, if I did, there will be a line full of people ready to tell me that I have to slow down, I have to take care of myself, I have to rest.

I get that but I don’t think people get how mentally discouraging it is to be sick like this and have a few moments when you feel good and want to do something enjoyable.  Even staying at the hospital with Olivia and Stephanie has been enjoyable for me to some degree, mainly because I have this terrible thing of wanting to feel needed. After I wrote the post about why I stayed with Olivia, I started thinking about how there was more to why I stayed, too — I was needed.  Her father needed me to help him, the nurses needed me to help keep her calm and, whether it’s accurate or not, I felt like maybe Olivia needed me, too.

I’ve spent the last couple of days questioning my own motives as to why I do some of the “good” things I do.  Do I do them in a genuine effort to serve other people?  Or am I just trying to serve my own desire to be needed?  It’s a valid question and, quite frankly, I’m afraid of what the answer might be.

– — –

I spent nearly seven years of my life being needed.  By the time it came to an end, Starlite was running ten programs a week — four elementary school programs, three middle school ones and three high school ones.  Sometimes when I look back on it now, I have no clue how I functioned during those years; I honestly can’t imagine being as busy as I actually was back then.

I was needed every day.  I was needed to make decisions, make things happen, make problems go away.  I was needed by the girls we served, the volunteers who ran our programs, the principals from each of our participating schools.  My inbox was never empty, my phone never silent, my calendar never blank.

But things are different now.  I work in a position that is challenging at times, but it’s nothing compared to the stress I used to work under.  I have my college girls I mentor, but a large portion of them will graduate next Saturday morning.  I used to keep Aviean on almost a daily basis, but now I rarely see her due to circumstances completely out of my control.

Sure, MacKenzie needs me on some level.  And Olivia and her sisters do, sometimes.  And I like to think that my puppies do, too, even if it’s just to feed them each morning and play with them at night.

But no one really needs me.  And that’s a hard pill for this girl to swallow.

– — –

Other reasons I’m in a bad mood tonight:

1. I feel like a whale.  I am so swollen (an added perk of the ovarian problems) that I can’t stand to look at myself in a mirror right now.  I ate lunch today and felt guilty about eating. It’s twisted and I have got to get a handle on this in my mind before it becomes a bigger problem.

2. I’m avoiding people.  It’s not in my nature to avoid people, but that’s exactly what I seem to be doing.  I just feel so “down” right now that I don’t want to burden anyone else with it.  Earlier today, when I was thinking about how many “sad” posts I have written lately on my blog, I had basically convinced myself to just shut down my blog so that I wouldn’t have to feel guilty about what I write about or try to write more “happily” when I just wasn’t feeling it.

3. I keep thinking mean things about one of my ex-boyfriends.  I found out that one of my ex-boyfriends was dealing with something difficult and I was happy about it.  I laughed over it.  I even texted my friends about it so they could join me in being glad about his misfortune.  I honestly cannot think of a time when I have been glad that someone has a problem and it makes me SICK to have discovered that I have it in me to act this way!  I mean, I am absolutely repulsed by the fact that I was even able to act that way.  I know exactly what Paul must have felt like when he said “I do not understand what I do.  For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do.” (Romans 7:15a)

I have a few more to add, but I think I’ll stop before this (easily) turns into a list of ten things I hate about myself.

It’s Tuesday evening and I’m in bed before the sun has even had a chance to go down.  I’m out of energy tonight and am taking that as a sign that the only place I belong this evening is directly in my bed.

I didn’t want to mention this yesterday, because it really paled in comparison to what Stephanie is going through, but I slipped and fell on Sunday evening and am pretty banged up.  I’m so glad I didn’t break or sprain anything, but I did end up with quite a few bruises along with a sore neck and back.  The good news is that I didn’t start feeling the brunt of the pain until last night when I was at the hospital with Stephanie.  All of the crying she and I did over the loss of her father left me too tired to even care about the physical pain and, honestly, I slept pretty well in the chair beside her bed.  I’d love to stay with her again tonight, but since her sister is able to stay with her tonight, I’m making the tough call that I need to be in my own bed for the night.

Last Friday I had two different doctor’s appointments that confirmed what I had suspected — I was on the brink of a mono relapse.  Perhaps more importantly, blood tests at one of the appointments indicated that one of the medicines I’ve been taking wasn’t “right.”  It turns out that, when I got it filled almost three weeks ago, the pharmacy substituted a generic.  The generic form of this medicine doesn’t work the same as the name brand version, so my body has only been getting a fourth of what the medicine was supposed to deliver each day.  In other words, I’ve been missing 3/4 of the medicine each day without knowing it which explains quite a bit.

– — –

I’ll be the first to admit that I’m looking a bit rough these days.  I’ve got black circles under my eyes that no amount of concealer can, well, conceal.  I’m tending to lose weight, since eating doesn’t always go well, but I’m swollen which gives the appearance that I’m actually gaining more weight.  I’m trying to have the will to get up each morning and fix my hair, but with everything that’s been going on lately plus the fact that I’m working overtime at the office right now, most days the best I manage is a messy ponytail.

But all these things mean very little because I’m usually just too tired to really care about those things right now.  I’m just doing what needs to be done each day, trying to rest, making sure I’m taking my medicine, etc.  You’ll be happy to know that Snuggles y Cuddles are doing an excellent job of taking care of me; in fact, they’ve already fallen asleep at the foot of my bed tonight in an attempt to model what I should be doing right now.

– — –

Conviction has been tearing me apart these past few days, mainly because I keep wanting to make choices that I know (but don’t want to admit I know) aren’t right, especially in the area of dating.  It’s driving me crazy, this knowing what I should do and not wanting to do it.  Do any of my other mid-twenties girls know what I’m talking about?  I’m spending half my time trying to ignore the feelings of conviction and the other half of my time trying to justify the wrong that I want to do.  As soon as I declare to myself that I’m going to do whatever I want, regardless of whether it’s wrong or right, I’m hit with a wave of conviction that nearly knocks me over and I’m back in the struggle of wanting to choose wrong over right.

But for now, sleep.

I went over to the hospital after work last night to sit with Stephanie for a couple of hours before heading home to take a shower and go to bed.  A few minutes after getting in bed, Stephanie’s sister called me to ask if I would want to come back to the hospital to sit with Stephanie while she slept for awhile.  As I mentioned yesterday, Stephanie and her mom and sister were dealing with the anniversary of her father’s death on top of everything else yesterday and, by the time last night came around, they were all just emotionally exhausted and needed to sleep so they could continue to be strong for her.

I drove over to the hospital in my pajamas and went up to Stephanie’s room.  When I had left the hospital earlier, she had asked me to try to sneak my little Snuggles y Cuddles in when I came back.  Isn’t that the cutest thing you’ve ever heard?  It’s my duty to report that the puppies remained at home, mainly because I’ve yet to teach them appropriate hospital etiquette.

I had noticed throughout the day that Stephanie had been emotionally strong for her mom’s sake and I suspected that she might need a chance to just feel the pain of the anniversary.  Before I had come into the hospital, I sat in my car and cried for Stephanie because I honestly didn’t know what — if anything — to say about the day.  I kept trying to think of what her dad would do for her if he was here, but I just kept coming up empty.  I sat in my car with my head on the steering wheel, just crying it out so that I wouldn’t break down crying in her room.

Stephanie was still awake when I made it to her room, so I got in bed with her because it just seemed like the thing to do.  Like I said yesterday, she’s the youngest out of my group of college girls and she’s the one who calls me “mom” on a regular basis; I just love her more than words can express.

We talked for a few minutes about the significance of the day and then we both just cried and cried and cried until we were so sleepy we could barely keep our eyes open.  I slept in the chair beside her bed last night and she was able to get some sleep in between the nurses coming in and out of her room all night long.  When I left to head to my office this morning, she was still fast asleep.

Today they’ll continue to watch the blood clot in her lung as well as the one in her leg.  They’re giving her medicine to thin her blood and are continuing to watch to make sure she doesn’t develop more blood clots.  They have no idea where this is coming from or how long it will take to “fix” it.  Last night, the doctor told us that her hospital stay could be as short as three days or as long as two weeks.

I think we should hope for the three days, don’t you?

I woke up this morning to a text letting me know that one of my college girls, Stephanie, had been admitted to the hospital with a blood clot in her leg.  As the day has progressed, the clot has moved to her lung and now a second clot has formed in her leg.  I’ve just come from the hospital and will be headed back there very soon.   As of a few minutes ago, Stephanie was still in critical condition.

To make matters worse (and now I’m doing the ugly cry as I’m trying to type this, so if it doesn’t make sense, I can’t help it) today is the sixth anniversary of her father’s death from liver disease.  I already knew that today was going to be a very hard day for her but now I just don’t know what to think.  I just absolutely don’t know what to think or say at this point.

I’m physically sick over this.  Stephanie is the youngest out of my group of college girls I mentor and she’s the one who calls me “mom” on a regular basis.  She is one of the most unique, tenderhearted girls I’ve ever known.  If you’ve read the blog for awhile, you’ll definitely remember her from the time she wore footie pajamas (or as she calls them, her “onesie”) to our retreat because, really, who could forget something like that? Then there was the time she crawled out her dorm room window using only the sheets from her bunk bed. For the love, who does that?  And, if you want to see her in full action, you can’t miss her rendition of Party In The USA.

Please pray for Stephanie today.

I’m home from Atlanta, but I’ll tell you more about that later — but, for now, I have far more important news…

Olivia was released from the hospital late Saturday evening.

I stood beside her bed and listened to the PICU doctor tell us she would be sedated for two months.   Two months.  I heard him say it.  And yet today?

She’s home, here in Cleveland.  She’s with her sisters, her daddy.  She’s home.

She’s a miracle.

– — –

People keep asking me questions, mainly about why I was there those nights.  The most amusing has been tentative questions about whether I might, perhaps, just maybe be dating Olivia’s single father.  Creative, but incorrect nonetheless.

I didn’t stay with Olivia each night because I was trying to escape my own pain, but it did offer me a distraction.  If I were looking for an emotional distraction, however, I’m sure I could have found one a bit closer to home, one that would have allowed me to sleep in my own bed instead of in a stiff chair in the PICU.

I really don’t know why I was there.  Everybody has had such nice things to say to me about being there with her and, to be honest, it makes me a little nervous.  You need to know that I’m really not as good of a person as it may sometimes look from the stories you hear about my life.

I mean, let me just be brutally honest with you in case you’re tempted to think I’m trying to be modest: at lunch in the campus dining hall one day last week, one of my college girls mentioned how “funny” (read: vindictive) it would be for baby items to “suddenly” appear on one of my ex-boyfriend’s wedding registries.  I am not proud of this, but I’m just going to go ahead and tell you that I had visions of myself scanning strollers and car seats to their registry dancing through my head as I ate the rest of my pasta.  Don’t worry; conviction set in right about the time I took my empty cup and plate to the dining hall conveyor belt.

So, why was I with Olivia?  I honestly don’t know myself.  All I know is that, when I went up that first night and stood beside her bed while she crashed, there was something inside of me that felt sick because there was a baby laying in a hospital bed without her mother beside her.  Every little girl needs a mama.  And so I asked the nurse for a blanket and a pillow, found a chair and stayed nearby.

It wasn’t heroic; you would have done it, too, I bet.  And I didn’t do it perfectly.  All those nights I drove up there, there was always this one stretch of the interstate where I would almost take an exit and come back home.  I had plenty of justifications; it was too hard to watch her struggle to live, I was too exhausted, it wasn’t my responsibility.  You don’t know this, but I spent many hours of those nights sitting beside her bed crying silently because the weight of what I was experiencing — watching a child struggle to live — was spiritually and mentally exhausting to this 25 year old.  I felt far too young for what I found myself seeing each night and I wanted to run from it and let someone else pick up the slack.  Sometimes I would grip the sides of the chair to keep myself from not getting up and running for the nearest hospital exit.

But sometimes it just doesn’t matter.  Sometimes you just stay, whether it’s hard or not, whether you’re too young or not, whether you feel like it or not.  Sometimes you just stay in the hard place, you just stare down the scary thing.  Sometimes you just decide that a little girl isn’t fighting for her life without someone with some maternal instinct sitting beside her bed.

Sometimes you just stay, even though she’s not your own daughter.  Sometimes you just stay, because that’s what a woman does.  Sometimes you just stay.

I’ve been waiting for this whole gynecological nightmare from Satan’s hometown (think it through and you’ll get it) to become funny and, finally yesterday at 9:12 a.m., it did just that.  I was up throughout the night with terrible pain and decided to call my doctor’s office to speak to a nurse about what I was experiencing since I was pretty sure it wasn’t normal.

The receptionist put me on the line with a male nurse.

Now, allow me to be clear: I don’t mind men being nurses.  More power to you, males of the world!  The medical field is ripe and waiting for your expertise!  Go forth and conquer!

But?  In a gynecologist office?  Really, sir?

And so, not only did I have the pleasure of relaying the intimate details of the pain to someone I don’t actually know, but I got to do it to a man! A real, live man!   Who wanted full details!  So that he could help me avoid my original idea of using a butter knife to cut through my abdomen to remove my uterus myself!

Sometimes a girl has to take matters into her own hands.

– — –

I am completely uninspired to write a real post, so here are fragments of what I’ve been doing lately:

Surviving events at work.  My job involves planning events; I love planning events.  However, it requires a particular amount of energy to be able to actually, you know, execute said events.  But they are behind me now and the weekend awaits.

I am supposed to leave in five hours for a Beth Moore event in Atlanta.  I am currently laying in bed because I am not actually certain that I have enough energy to walk to my bathroom, take a shower and get dressed for the day, much less meet some of my best friends for a girls’ weekend.  Welcome to the life of someone experiencing a mono relapse.

Yesterday they removed the feeding tube from Olivia because she can now eat.  I have no idea what to make of this.  I mean, I knew God was a God of miracles but this?  Well, this just blows my mind.  I heard the doctor say she would be sedated in the ICU for two months.  I heard those words come out of his very mouth.  And now she can eat Jello less than two weeks since the day of the accident?  I’m still just stunned.

I’m exhausted.  Except I’m not; it’s just the mono making me feel that way.  For the love of Beth Moore’s big hair, why did this have to happen now?

Who am I missing this sweet Thursday morning, you ask?

Why, Aviean (my cousin’s daughter), of course.

I took these pictures of her a few weekends ago, while we were in North Carolina.  Would you like to agree with my completely biased opinion that she’s one of the most darling things on the planet?

Thank you, I so appreciate your compliance.

– — –

Aviean calls me “Amy Beff.”

I, in turn, call her one of the best things that’s ever happened to me.

– — –

One evening when she was staying with me, I was tucking her in bed when I spontaneously said “Aviean?  Who loves you more than the sun in the sky?”

She giggled and told me that her grandmother did, not me.

So I said “Well, who loves you more than the grass on the ground?”

More giggles before telling me that it was her mother who loves her that much.

I put my hands on my hips, leaned over the bed and said –

“Aviean, darling, who loves you more than all the fish in the sea?”

She put her little hands on both sides of my face, kissed my nose and said “Amy Beff does.”

Amy Beff does, indeed, Aviean.  And I’m never going to let you forget it.

– — –

You’re wanting more Aviean, aren’t you?  Silly me.  Who wouldn’t?

My “boyfwriend.” | Snow angel. | Hoe, yo.

Well, if you haven’t already seen my Facebook status from yesterday, they woke Olivia up again yesterday and she watched cartoons for a few minutes!  From what I hear from her dad, she is making incredibly fast improvements that are leaving even the doctors and nurses amazed.  As recently as this past weekend, her doctor told her dad and I that we were looking at two months in the ICU.  This morning they’re discussing downgrading her to a regular hospital room if she continues remaining stable.  What?!?

From someone who has been there and listened to the doctor’s prognosis for days, I’m just stunned.  Absolutely, completely stunned.  As someone said in a comment on my Facebook status last night, “why am I always surprised by God’s power?”

I wanted to go to the hospital last night to stay with Olivia, but I was still having (and am still having even this morning) some serious pain from the exams I had to have on Monday morning.  I decided to stay home and, when the pains got really bad around 10 p.m. last night, I was very glad I was alone in my own bed so that no one had to listen to me cry.

Are you sick of hearing about me crying?  I am too.  I promise you I’m typically not a wimp when it comes to pain, even though it must look like it these last few days.  Or maybe I really am a wimp and I’m just now discovering it?  Let’s not rule out that possibility.

I’m not sure if I’ll be able to go up to visit Olivia tonight or not.  I’m writing this on Wednesday morning and I’m still really in pain, so I’d say it’s doubtful that I can drive that far tonight considering that all I keep thinking about is how fun it will be to curl up in a little ball in my bed after work tonight.  Ryan’s mother came in town late yesterday, so I’m happy to know that he and Olivia are not alone.

I’m totally bored with talking about myself so why don’t you say we call it a day?