black and white, wearing green, bleeding red and feeling blue
I am wearing my lecherous Irishman shirt today, and I guess I might wear it every appropriate day, which means I could be wearing it between 5 and 45 more times in my life. I think I don't need to keep it in my closet for the other days of the year, as there's no chance I'll be wearing it then. But if I follow that logic, I should be shedding tee-shirts out of my closet more and more. I have so many dorky or offensive or whatever shirts that were funny when I was younger or were more appropriate when I weighed 20 pounds more or were okay when I didn't care if anyone wanted to write their congressman after reading it. But those shirts get worn rarely now, maybe on the weekends, maybe not even then. I have a habit of 'retiring' old teeshirts, mostly band teeshirts that don't fit anymore or are becoming threadbare. How many times am I going to wear a solid black felt-applique Skinny Puppy shirt in a Galveston summer? They need to go, but I want to keep them for when I'm old and crumply so I can remember, oh shit I remember when I bought that shirt at the concert, yadda yadda where's my Ensure? I got into a polo-esque shirt phase when I moved here, thinking it would be appropriate for gradschool, but found out that A)I look like some kind of contractor B)polo-esque shirts are soluble in Galveston tap water and C)the thin ones show my nipples when it gets cold outside. So I've gone back to teeshirts, but I usually just get the uncorporate hipster blank slightly pre-rattied ones, because at least they are comfortable.
I wrenched my wrist last night at practice (or rather someone else did it for me), but I didn't realize it until today. Even picking up a gallon of milk is painful, though thankfully it's probably a sprain and not a rupture. I'll just eat pills for lunch and dinner and learn to use my left hand for everything today (insert clandestine dick-yanking reference here).
I dropped off my dog at the vet to get an ultrasound to find out if she's actually pregnant or not. I have the option of getting her fixed to take care of the pregnancy, since her x-ray came back with a diagnosis of 'moderate hip displasia'. Luckily (as best as the word can be applied) the OFA sent me a copy before I went to talk to the vet about it so it wasn't a shock like the first time. I am still reticent about giving up and fixing her, but that is admittedly a puerile reaction and eventually I will relent and end that poem in this chapter of my life.