Today I have the bastard of all headaches. This is punishment for announcing to the world last Friday that I haven’t had a headache in forever. I’m full of drugs, which means my typing is for shit. I’m having to correct like every fifth word or so.
I gave the dogs marrow bones, however, because when I’m suffering, I like to make them happy. And also hear the constant gnaw-gnaw-gnawing of teeth against bone. That’s some great headache relief!
Tim came over earlier to let me know he’d sent me a couple of youtube links. I watched them and laughed. Unlike the gnaw-gnaw-gnawing of bones, laughter really does provide me moments of headache relief.
Thanks, Tim.
I was gonna ask my fab readers what you might want me to post today. Photos of family members? Photos of last week at Hermann Park with Lindsey? Dog photos? Diatribe about politics? Heartwarming anecdote about meerkats? MORE BARBIE DOLLS?
Eh, here’s what you get. Enjoy.
On this day in 1828:
Novelist, philosopher, and religious mystic Count Leo Tolstoy is born in the province of Tula. In 1908 his admirers organize a Tolstoy fund and a grand jubilee to celebrate his 80th birthday; he responds angrily: “When there is nothing left to think about but death, they want to bother me with that!” The committee subsides, but the public is already aroused. Presents are received, messages of congratulation arrive from Thomas Hardy, Bernard Shaw, George Meredith, and H.G. Wells; crowds gather outside his house, along with a brass band and photographers.
I LOVE cranky old writers! I’m naming today’s headache Tolstoy in his honor.
Quoted material from A Book of Days for the Literary Year.
Feel better, Becky!
Thanks!
I hope your Tolstoy feels better soon.
Much better now, thanks. =)
You amaze me. You live life so well, even with the pain of these dreadful headaches.
If I were not already a good four years older than you I would want to be like Becky when I grow up.
Enjoyed the Tolstoy-ey goodness factoid.
Heh heh, yes, I’m YEARS younger than everyone. It’s amazing.
Thank you. =)
What? Hours later, and not one “Tim rules,” or “That Tim is so sweet.” Or even, “You’re so lucky to have Tim in your life.”
Fuckers!
TIM RULES! Now quick throw him a marrow bone so he can gnaw, gnaw, gnaw.
I blame myself. It’s been far too long since I reminded everyone that it’s all about Tim. I’m a slacker.
I probably need to post some more photos of him, too. First I have to talk him into letting me shoot some. As I recall, I’ve made some kind of promise about a hot man holding a puppy.
Wish me luck.
Good luck … I’m always up for hot men holding puppies.
Poor Becky *rubs temples gently*
Spot the typing error . . . Tolstoy was born 1828 . . . but as you have a monster headache, you’re forgiven!!!
Gorgeous picture, though – he looks totally unapproachable and loving-grandfatherly at one and the same time.
Hope you feel better soon.
Good grief–that’s quite an error and will be fixed.
I think I read about that photo that it’s the only one of him in color. I think it’s a great photo.
Thanks for the “feel better” wishes. =)