Susan's day began at the awesome hour of 5 am so she could drink the second part of her colonoscopy prep. Everyone at the doctors' office was nice to her and afterward the husband took her out for a proper breakfast; a sausage sandwich & cup of coffee.
Has Susan mentioned that she likes sausage?
Well she does.
She was not allowed to operate machinery or make any important decisions for the rest of the day, so she went home and sat in the sun, reading, napping and passing gas instead.


Susan spent a beautiful summer Sunday in the house preparing for her colonoscopy on Monday.
First, and most horribly, she was not allowed to eat solid food! The husband was no help at all saying ridiculous things like, don't overreact.
Go f*ck yourself, Susan thought. She can't eat! Of course she's going to overreact.

Susan was restricted to clear liquids including water, juice without pulp and Jello. Nothing red or blue. She may also have popsicles and hard candy, big deal.
Susan sent the husband out for miso and wonton soups from which she strained anything remotely resembling actual food.  She drank her juice, ate her Jello and sucked her Werther's until 5:30 pm when she began drinking 32 ounces of osmotic laxative.
It took a little more than two hours to take effect.

Other things she did while not eating real food for an entire day;
Rubbed Lucy's belly
Made a plan for her daughter's 16th birthday next month
Read the newspapers
Made ravioli from wonton wrappers
Watched a documentary about the High Line
Enjoyed a pop in visit from her niece.


Let's all congratulate Susan's son the wrestler, he's now a High School graduate!

Editor's note: This is the only picture containing Susan in which she did not look like a matronly version of her youthful self.


Susan's parents, the Old Folks are back home now, but last week during one of their two hour breakfasts Susan's old man told her the story of Two Four Victor.

Back in the days before Susan's dad met Susan's mom he drove a NYC bus and took flight training at Teterboro airport. One morning while he was getting ready to go to work he heard on the radio that a plane had landed on Broadway in upper Manhattan at two in the morning. The story was that it landed there as a bet.

Coincidentally, his bus route took him right past the spot where the plane was sitting, taking up two parking spots in front of the precinct house. He said that the wings were off the plane & tied to the side as if they were handcuffed.
At his next lesson he learned that plane was Two Four Victor, the same one he had flown two days earlier.

Susan thought that was a great story. Her dad is filled with charming little anecdotes about people and circumstances. She told him 'I bet there's a picture of that plane' and opened up her laptop.
Susan's no genius with the computer, that's more her little sister's domain, but it took her exactly thirty seconds to find this story:
Click HERE!


The CEO is Dead

Susan resigned from Acme Sweatshop this week.

Susan is at peace with her decision even though quitting without having another gig lined up may appear a little insane. She believes herself to be entitled to this sabbatical and alternates between feeling happily relaxed and somewhat untethered.
It's very unusual for her not to be working.
She has replaced those 40 + hours by slicing her thumb while using a sharp knife, driving around with the sunroof open, figuring out how to make pulled pork, scheduling a colonoscopy and missing her co-workers.

Susan's wardrobe also reflects her non-working status. She wears what she calls her Backyard Collection, a less ironed, more lived in version of her work clothes. The only criteria is that she look good and not be afraid to ruin anything when she sits down on a dirty Adirondack chair.
Everyone knows how Susan feels about looking unkempt. There's no reason for it.
Yesterday, while sitting outside the bank waiting for her son to deposit his $12.99 income tax return, she observed a standard issue mom from her neighborhood; sloppy, hair a mess, dressed like a bum climbing into an expensive SUV.
Ladies, is this how we want to represent ourselves?

Join Susan as she navigates her Summer of Unemployment and see which of her own standards she lowers.


Susan is aware that she promised to write a paragraph a day, but her parents have been in town since last week messing up her schedule. She's not accustomed to the loosey gooseyness of their day which starts with a two hour breakfast because it takes her old man half that time to gnaw through his bagel. No plans are made before noon, but the earliest anyone really gets out of the house is 1:30pm.

This time management handicap not withstanding, they've done some good stuff like;
Gone to see the Big Duck
Visited a few points along the Culper Spy Trail
Walked a beautiful wooded park
and listened to bluegrass while eating ice cream.


Susan's poison ivy has almost completely disappeared and been replaced with a general itchiness all over her body. She's not sure if it's an actual medical condition or a manifestation of the extra thinking her brain has been doing about life and stuff.

Regardless, it's itchy.

The husband had been pushing Susan to pop some Benadryl but it makes her jumpy, so she stuck with the itching. But, the itching is insane. When she's not scratching she's thinking about scratching.

Eventually she could no longer stand it and ate the pill. It had a minimal effect on the itching but made her feel simultaneously lethargic and anxious, an unpleasant combination.
She slathered on the cortisone cream and went about her business.

This week Susan is hosting her parents, catching up on her medical appointments, seeing people, doing things and getting ready for her immediate future.


Susan's daughter's sez that all her friends refer to Susan as 'The CEO'.
She assumes this is because the daughter has portrayed her mother as a professional person with some measure of responsibility. It could also be based on the fact that they've never met her because she's always working.

Anyway, Susan got a kick out of this moniker. She's often scrambling to keep up at Acme Sweatshop and any progress she makes is only temporary. She has not let this dissuade her. Every day she gets up, tries her hardest, works late, then comes home to a family that has lived their day without her.

Who recognizes the definition of insanity in this pattern?

The CEO took a couple of unscheduled days off and has spent her time opening windows, chatting in a relaxed manner with her children, scrubbing two bathrooms top to bottom, cutting late blooming lilacs for her table, reconnecting with friends, cooking dinner and considering what direction she wants her life to take.


Susan lives in an area teeming with poison ivy, she keeps it off her property by pointing it out to the husband who kills it with chemicals. However, it's an invasive little f*cker and they must make monthly patrols to ensure eradication because Susan is super allergic.

Two weeks ago Susan shaved her legs. She really hates this chore because she has delicate flower petal skin, but she understands the necessity during warm weather when her prickly legs are exposed for anyone to rub up against. 

In no time Susan had a poison ivy rash across the front of her left leg. By the next day it appeared to have exploded beneath the shaved parts becoming an attention grabbing purpley red mass twice in size. Susan controlled the itch with a paste of baking soda and water but she couldn't control the horrified stares from family and co-workers. Recommendations that she go to the doctor were laughed off, her strategy was to ignore the leg until it returned to normal. 

Then her ankle swelled. 

Over the weekend Susan attended a family event and kept the spectacle hidden under a pair of black pants. When eagle-eyed aunt Eileen caught sight of it she cornered Susan and shamed her into making a doctor's appointment.

On Monday, Susan's 54th birthday, she went to the doctor and got a cortisone shot in her ass. Then she filled a prescription for some methylprednisolone, slathered her spectacle with cortisone cream and went to work. That night little sister and the available members of her family came over to celebrate and give Susan presents. 

In the morning Susan's husband brushed his teeth with her cortisone cream.


On Sunday morning Susan received a mis-directed voicemail from a woman with a heavy black accent who said;
'Hannah, mama died, I'm not going to church.'


Susan has lopsided balance in her life.
She loves to BLAHg yet doesn't. She toils in service for Acme Sweatshop yet still gets in trouble. She's overdue for almost every medical test she should maintain. She doesn't bake. She barely keeps in touch with anyone and has no effective method of remembering birthdays, which is really lame because it's the easiest thing in the world.
Susan's not in a depression or anything, she's just in an extended lethargy. She can fix it, she just has to decide that she wants to.
She's going to start by BLAHging every day. Just a paragraph, but every day.
See you all again tomorrow.