My mom used to say that and I would laugh, little knowing how right she was. After getting a cortisone shot in my shoulder blade area yesterday for bursitis, I have a urology appointment tomorrow for what I’m starting to think isn’t actually ICS, but recurring UTI’s. (Sometimes Google is your friend. Not often, but sometimes)

About a week and a half later, I have an MRI scheduled for my back because the cortisone shots are not working in that area. (None of this will cost much, if anything, so pffffftttt to those who think the American medical system is so awful. Go to another country is we’re so bad)

Yes, I’m a touch cranky. Why, you ask? Because it feels like yet another recurring UTI is starting. Thankfully, I have the urologist tomorrow. Meanwhile, I smack myself upside the head and go, “Seriously???????????” I do not have time for this nonsense.

This is the last week of classes for me, I get two weeks off and then back for 7 weeks, during which I pray for classes to get me through the summer. I love teaching from my lawn swing, by the way. Maverick runs around outside while I teach, it’s a win – win situation

Maverick – he cracks me up as often as he drives me nuts. Last night I was taking some stuff out of the family room and he was way too nosy. So I pulled down the box we used in tricks class and told him to “get in the box!” He did, and jumped out. I told him, “Nope, get in the box and sit!” He did. While he was going in and out of the box, and I was cracking up, I got the stuff I wanted to get out of the family room, out! He’s a character!

In other news, a quilt that’s been in process for over a year may be finished tomorrow. Will be finished tomorrow. It has a big border that wouldn’t lay flat, so I had to take it apart and redo it twice, at which point I wadded it up and stuffed it in a bag and threw it into a spare bedroom. I’m on mission to complete projects, so out it came and I told it, “you go together or you go to the trash, you decide.” Apparently it understood, I have onlyl the binding to do. By the way, this is not actually a “quilt,” because it’s machine “quilted” and my mother would slap me for calling it anything other than a “comforter.” If it wasn’t hand quilted, it was not deserving of the title “quilt” in her eyes. Who am I to argue with her?