I was telling Dad about a situation I'm in, and he reminded me that I have all the tools to deal with it, because, "You've gotten a lot of t-shirts. Earned 'em."

This is one of my favorite nuggets of wisdom my dad doles out. He refers to Life's Lessons as "T-Shirts." Ya know how when you go on vacation and you get a Hard Rock Cafe or Disney t-shirt, or you've been through something, you have "been there, done that, got the t-shirt"? This is much the same principle. Think of the t-shirts you have collected.

Here, I'll go first: I have a few cross-country moves under my belt. And that's okay. I like to drive, and I like to listen to my own mix tapes while I do it. Some t-shirts I even got for FREEE, with call letters and logos on them! Woohoo! Free T-SHIRTS everybody!

When Trav moved out, he left some of his NDSU shirts in his closet, and tomorrow just happens to be "wear your school colors" day at The Scooter Store, so I'm gonna go shoppin' among his t-shirts...

My life is flashing before my eyes, in slow motion. This morning, I am mentally in Riverdale High School, terrified of Garrison Dam drowning us all.

Erik picked me up from work, and immediately took me to the Super Mail Center. I watched as Erik administered the oath to Mike and now there is one more Notary Public among us. I think now those two boys will take all their snacks and the Star Wars chess game and maybe the big screen TV and go out to live in a treehouse, and begin their own society.

'ello! trav here, just posting to make sure everything is working properly after the Big Move.
The server is in a new data center now, and so far everything has gone smoothly, but if something is broken, you can blame me. =)

I caused an uproar in my church this morn, as parishioners, chaplains, and various sargeants were lifting tables and crawling beneath pews hurriedly before the Catholics filed in for the 9:00 a.m. service.

My husband about had a heart attack. And according to liveto100.com, he's not scheduled to widow me until he's 78.

Soooo, here's the story:

Since the surgery, six weeks ago, I've not been wearing my engagement ring and wedding band, because my left hand is swollen. It's probably a circulatory thing. Anyway, I know this bothers Erik to a degree, and gotta tell ya, if it may look like I'm the homewrecking single hussy out with a married man at Sunday brunch, well then, with the help of some cold water, I managed to get them on this morning.

Now, our chapel is coooold. At some point during the service, probably while we were standing for the final hymn today, my left hand shrunk up. We went down to the basement for a cup of bad coffee and some banter with the chaplains. When we left to go to brunch, we got all the way out to the truck, I looked down at my left hand and alerted Erik to the situation. I have not seen him react to anything so quickly as to the prospect of me with no wedding band. Everyone in the basement was on the prowl. The elderly couples outside the church were searching the sidewalk. Erik finally found the engagement ring and half of the ordeal was over.

Jan, the seemingly all-knowing organist and Sgt. Tevales, the chaplain's assistant, flagged me down from the front of the sanctuary.

"Ma'am, I found your beautiful wedding ring. I didn't want to make an announcement, because I didn't want anyone to lie and say it was theirs..."

THANK GOD for such a caring family of people!

The other night, Walk the Line was on television. A few mornings later, I met consciousness, in that place-between-asleep-and-awake, believing I was in solitary confinement in Folsom Prison. In that state, I began to break down the nightmare.

I wouldn't end up in prison, because I don't commit crimes. Duh. I especially wouldn't be in solitary, because I am not a troublemaker. If anyone chose to throw me in the Hole, I would promptly work my scared-of-the-dark-and-claustrophobic self up into a cardiac event and die. Problem solved. Luckily, at that point I recognized the whirr of the ceiling fan, and was pretty much awake.

I hear the train a comin'; it's rollin' 'round the bend,
And I ain't seen the sunshine since I don't know when.
I'm stuck at Folsom Prison and time keeps draggin' on.
But that train keeps rollin' on down to San Antone.

There's something not too many folks know: I have some pretty reliable experience with this, and Martha, at my church, will corroborate my research. Post-brain surgery, you will eat more chocolate than you ever thought you could possibly want. That is the only food group there might as well be in the world. It's good to have dear friends who own a candy store if you have to have one of these operations.

I'm tempering the chocolate binges with V8, coffee and Fresca. Those are food groups too, right?

This is one of those Miracle Stories. I feel so awesome, like ten years have gone. Brain surgery can change your personality. I guess a second brain surgery could change you back. Tanya's email this morning read, "Pre-Sc--. WOW." My coworker Sandy said I seem more sure of myself, less "glazed." My boss thinks I'm taller. Isn't that awesome? I always wanted to be taller.

I have butterflies in my stomach. It's like when you're dating someone new, or you have a new job, or you're nearing the top of the ferris wheel. WooHOOO. Life is beginning, and it is so interesting. It's so worth it. Those kind of butterflies tell me that this was a fabulous idea. There is so much ahead, and I'm going to be conscious for ALL of it!

A butterfly flapping its wings in China can cause war on the other side of the world.

Or, ya know, Global Warming or something.

Work went great today. I had a venti Starbucks at 7:30, a V8 at 11:30, another cuppa coffee at two, and made it to 5:30 with, I believe, all of my grace.

Tomorrow morning, I'm five weeks post-op, and I'm going back to work. I'm so excited about that, and it's more than just cabin fever and boredom with television and household chores. I am thrilled to get back to life.

While I'm at it, remember that you're so great, you should be jealous of yourself. A similar phrase on a keychain once hung from a rear-view mirror with my garter from prom. Go ahead and be great. Be amazing. I want you to consider...