your blog, for whatever reason, refuses to load properly, or to allow me to scroll (either up or down) or post comments. Lord only knows why, but superstitious as I am not, I'm blaming it on the weather.
At any rate, if you can feel the lump through his chest now then I'd be assuming it's some sort of tumor (sorry). The likely-hood of him having a cyst on his back that you can still feel through his chest is slim to none, but again, I'm not a doctor. If I were you, which clearly I'm not or you'd be here instead of there, I would tell him to put on the big boy panties and get it checked out. And failing that, I'd drug his sorry butt with...I don't know, pig sedatives? And haul him down to the ER. Better to have a grumpy QD than a dead one.
I have much more to say, but really by that I mean I have lots of questions. Things that I'm wondering about. Or maybe I don't. Maybe I just want a chance to poke your bruises (and have you poke mine) and then we can sit and commiserate together, it's hard to say. But there's some sort of interaction-type-thing that people do, you know, with one another that's missing here amidst all the ransomed internet drama.
So I guess my point is that you should call me. You know, sometime. Preferably not on Tuesdays or Thursdays. Or maybe that's exactly when you should call. It's hard to say. You just call when you're free and hopefully the planets will align and I'll be free too.
I'm really sorry about the concentrated crazy and all the bitter grumpiness that's surrounding you. The desert, despite its many, MANY flaws, is really not nearly so bad. It's even better once you've been elsewhere.
Remind me tomorrow, to tell you a story about bluejeans. It will at least make you smile for a minute, even if it's at my expense. Lots and lots of love. XOXO
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