Joyce, our friend of 23 years and her wonderful husband Eric brought chicken-barley soup that Eric made and a birthday cake for me to boot. Spent a lot of time laughing our asses off tonight. Zoë arrived safely around midnight from her long trek, poohed but happy.
I feel the need to interpret this photo...Joyce and I toiled for the same TV station in the late 80's-early 90's, and in order to survive the corporate BS we invented self-proclaimed "theme days." This was "polyester day." We also did "punk rock day" and "Republican day," complete with starched shirts and ties. As Hunter S Thompson correctly proclaimed, "when the going gets weird, the weird turn pro."
Peg did some "social sleeping" tonight. The Fentanyl patch is still kicking in, but we haven't got the pain relief rhythm yet (hell, Peg's German and I'm Scottish/Norwegian...how much chance do we really have for rhythm anyway?) Dipping into the morphine quite a bit the last few hours.
But that's what we're after, keeping her comfortable. Morphine, shmorphine.
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