I Have Grown Older, and You Have Grown Colder, and Nothing is Very Much Fun . . . Anymore

Can you tell I'm not feeling well? I have some raging, horrible, toothache-like pain in my right wrist, and it shoots the whole way up past my elbow. It's been creeping up on me for a while, getting worse and worse so that I've finally made an appointment to see my doctor on Thursday. I assume it's carpal tunnel, and I'm not thrilled.

In other news, I'm reading the brand spanking new Steve Almond, Rants, Exploits, and Observations (Not That You Asked). I am even more in love than I was when I read Candy Freak, and that was a lot of love. Now he's even sweeter and better, because he and his wife just had a baby daughter (Josephine! One of my choices had The Boy been The Girl!), and he's besotted. YUM!

I had been reading The Half-Life of Happiness, which I was enjoying, but I dropped it for my Stevie. I'll go back to it, though. I also just read Dancing with Einstein, which I totally recommend if you're in the mood for something kind of stark (but oddly detailed) and sad.

That's it, though. I'm working, I'm reading, I'm hanging with The Boy, and I'm bitching about my wrist. (And singing songs from The Wall in my head: Either I need to go back to high school so I can dig up some Old Mil Pounders and recreational drugs, or I need to take a nap.)