No Spring-Back Chicken

So, I was in Illinois, first at my Mom's for five days and then in Chicago for three. Mom's a bit of a pack rat. Not a hoarder, mind you, but her sentimentality does get the best of her, enough so that her car sat in the drive. Twenty contractor bags later, we're still friends. Now there's plenty of room for the vehicle and just in time for her eightieth birthday.

Good son.

Then Chicago. And on the first night, scotch. Lots of it. These people hadn't seen me in many years: some just three years; some more like twenty. I couldn't say no, could I?

I should have.

This was early. It was also a bit of frivolity as the officer who has my arm wrenched behind my back is a friend of friends. I asked for a photo with him and got a little more than I expected. That's my bad arm, so maybe the booze was a good thing at this point.

But not later. Not five hours later.

Yet, I must say that I haven't laughed so much in one evening in a long, long time. I forgot my troubles and ills, and I wasn't reminded of the latter until the next morning and for the next thirty-six hours, most of which found me asleep.

That was a week ago. Let's just say my acupuncturist was none too pleased this week.

Lesson learned? Yes. In fact, lessons.

But I'm still a bit too exhausted to list them out. (And hence, my prolonged absence.) Just thought you folks would get a kick out of the photo.