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Taco night here. I'm cheating where I can from here on out, but only when the moment manifests itself. On Thursday I got diagnosed with venous stasis in both legs. I'm at high risk for further infection and/or congestive heart failure, so my immediate marching orders are thus: lose weight (got a new med for that), get my A1C down (got a NEW med for that), and wear prescription compression stockings from here on (hello, advanced geezerhood). Connie saw him the next day to follow up on her meds, her MS, and whatnot, and she asked him, "Can't you tell him to cut back on the beer?!?" He just smiled at her and said, "We can both tell him, but you know that ain't gonna happen."

Damn tootin'. I only have a couple of weeks of cold-conditioning left to go with that keg I brewed back in April. Don't tell me to cut back now. And I gotta have a talk with him about his phlebotomist. She couldn't find her own butt with both hands and a flashlight. She jabbed that, that - ICE PICK - into my arm and rooted around for five minutes before she found a spring to tap. I got a bruise the size of a baseball on my arm. I hope she was only interning, but Connie's cackled about her for a year, so I guess I'm (no pun intended) stuck.

I miss Audrey.