After a tiny flurry of excitement I’m doing fine. No worries. Not a big deal. It could have been so much worse than taking meds, having nurses check and monitor stuff (because hospitals are no place to get rest), and lots more repeated tests. But it seems all the urgency, and scolding I received, paid off. So thats good.
Turns out, driving cross country for hours and hours in yoga pants? Yeah, not recommended by my Dr. Sorry Lululemon.
‘But they’re for yoga.’ I told him. ‘Yoga is healthy.’
I got an eye roll for my troubles.
‘Were you doing yoga while you were driving across the entirety of Spain?’ Eyebrows raised.
We both knew the answer. In Castilla-La Mancha I had actually tried. So it probably wasn’t Covid related. I likely did this to myself. A fashion injury. The worst kind. The clothes don’t just don’t just try to kill you, they bruise your ego on the way out.
So I’ll have to follow strict instructions over the next several months (like I haven’t had to do that this year), take meds carefully, watch out for side effects (try not to run into anything or get cut since my blood won’t clot well on this stuff), and a few other things. Jeff is hiding the knives. But its not the end of the world.
In the grand scheme its kind of a nothing burger. Sure, it could have been bad, but it wasn’t. It’s a good thing, too. I have stuff to do purchasing my new 2021 wardrobe in neutrals. I hear white compression socks are all the rage this season🤪 Good thing its almost winter. And the upside, I learned a pro-tip: Never drive or fly long-haul in yoga pants. Who knew? Information is power.
Only 48 days left in this god-forsaken year. I’ll mark every one of them off, counting down until its finally over. Yoga pantless. But it’s all good.