I went for yet another neighborhood jaunt yesterday, this time with a practical aim: I needed to drop off several things at the post office. The past two or three weeks or so since I got out of the hospital, I've been dressing up almost every time I leave the apartment, even if it's just to go to the bank or the grocery store. My soul had just gotten weary from wearing sweats and t-shirts for 7 weeks without letup; I needed some uplifting after all that illness and emotional bogging-down. Looking good is a great cure for the blues, lemme tell ya. So, yesterday, there I was, dressed in an elegantly feminine springtime dress in a pretty 1930s-reminiscent floral pattern, wearing little black low-heeled Mary Janes and generally feeling very pleased with myself for managing to not look frumpy. But the very best part, the part that made me laugh the whole way to the post office and wish that I had gotten someone to take my picture, was that I was carrying a large carton with a big red "BIOHAZARD" sticker on it. That amuses me no end. I love the juxtaposition of the girly clothes and scary mysterious medical paraphernalia.
The explanation for the box: it's very mundane, really. When I was doing IV medications, the home nurse had to take weekly blood draws to check the level of the antibiotic in my bloodstream (it's highly toxic stuff and will ruin your kidneys if you get too much of it). So they gave me a little sharps container to put the syringes in and a postage-paid box for mailing the whole thing back to them. Enough of that.
In other happy news, I am on the hunt for a job. A real job. As in one with benefits, and maybe even a smidge of paid vacation every year. Whoa. Aim for the stars, I believe, and you just may catch hold of one. I'm feeling lucky at the moment, like something really good is about to happen. I think I will dress up again today and walk down to my friend's house down the street--just to be out and about and feeling pretty. It's a healing experience.
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