Mrs. Santa's setback.

  
Well well well.
Yes, it's been several days since my last trip to blogland, but before you jump to the conclusion that it's because I just don't care, let me explain --

I was planning on writing a nice post yesterday,

but instead I went to the hospital 

. . . and then spent the night there.  

In December!  With all these projects on my desk!  With unmade cookies screaming from the pantry!  With the post office deadline loudly ticking past!  And with ABSOLUTELY NOTHING WRONG WITH ME.

Which is good news, I guess, but it was pretty frustrating to be carted around in a wheelchair and wheeled around in a bed when I really wanted to be home doing a Jillian Michaels workout and whipping up holiday magic.

And all because of those two pesky little words (which I learned several years ago never to utter but haven't found another way to describe yet) . . . chest pain. 

When the doctor told me I was going to have to stay overnight, it got ugly.  Mrs. Santa was a little . . . *ahem . . . less than twinkly.  Actually, when I called my family doctor in the first place and he told me to go to the hospital, I said, "YOU go to the hospital!", which isn't the way polite people speak to their doctors.

But then polite doctors never 

send people to the hospital 

a week before Christmas 

with seven thousand unfinished things 

on their lists. 

Anyway, I've said it before, Dad, and I'll say it again -- thanks for the genes.  They're the gift that keeps on giving.  But for today, at least, they're just a bunch of sound and fury signifying nothing.  (Nothing but idle threats and a miserable batch of tests and a deplorable lack of sleep.)

I hope all of you are enjoying a more pleasant seasonal rush!

And making more progress on your lists than I am.

Now, back to work!  

(I'll see you after I've had a little nap.)