I can't sleep (obviously). My arm is hurting like a bitch. I was playing catch with Jethro over the weekend and I managed to catch a baseball with my wrist and forearm, sending shock waves through the nerves which then exploded like nanotechnological fireworks all the way to my fingertips. You'd think that would be enough to render my arm useless for at least a day or two, but no. I kept an ice pack on it from Houston all the way to Austin (where we dropped off one of my sisters) and the ultrasounded it at the clinic yesterday and it was mostly normal, just a little sore. Then last night, my other arm started hurting for no reason I could remember. I didn't think much of it, but I had a lot of trouble sleeping.
Jethro checked it out at the clinic today, using the opportunity to feel me up unexpectedly, and said it was thoracic something-or-other and it was quite serious. I bit my lip a little and asked him what the hell he was talking about, and then he laughed at me for believing him which seemed premature. I hadn't actually bought it completely yet. But I do hate it when he knows words that I don't. It isn't right. English isn't even his first language.
So, the problem, apparently is tha my right pec and shoulder muscles are constricting an artery which is affecting circulation to my right arm. Not serious, just annoying. I probably worked those muscles playing catch. Damn baseball. Why do I love it so?
In other news, it has been a stellar week for Jethro and me, extra-maritally speaking. On Saturday I received a call from my friend Joe from school. He was at a swingers club and after some brief perfunctory conversation, he said Jethro and I needed to get a babysitter and come on down to the VIP room where we could do whatever and could even kick him out if we wanted.
He texted me later and said he was on a head full of turkey (does anyone know exactly what that means? Urban dictionary has failed me, unless he was talking about the opposite of a virgin, which would be interesting but, I think, inaccurate).
And as flattered as I am that while he was in what I am assuming was a state of complete inebriation and possibly something more, he wanted to watch Jethro and I get it on, I just don't see us succumbing to that type of temptation. I suppose I should feel insulted that he thinks I'm that type of girl, but I'm not. Insulted.
If you can believe it, I'm actually a little shy about sex outside of a strictly marital context. Sex is a really really really big scary deal to me when I don't have the safety net of a sweet, hot, funny guy who would never break my heart. But in that kind of relationship, sex is amusing, fun and interesting (if innappropriate) to discuss. And of course it's fascinating to hear about others' exploits. Just because I would never be brave (or stupid, yes I said stupid) enough to engage in them doesn't mean I'm unwilling to be entertained by the courage/absurdity of others.
And in keeping with the current theme, I was working the front desk at the clinic today, and I got a call from Jethro's wannabe girlfriend. I answered the phone and she, without identifying herself, asked to speak to Dr. Jethro. I had no idea it was her, but he was with another patient and I told her so. I think she was expecting the regular front desk girl to answer because when I asked her if I could take a message she babbled weirdly about her nervous system and how she needed someone knowledgeable to answer some questions.
Now I know my husband is knowledgeable, but he isn't a psychic and I kind of need to have a name and number so he can return the call. I had to ask her twice and she finally mumbled it rapidly. It all clicked then. Jethro has himself a chubby little stalker.
I think I should have a polite conversation with her. I can tell her about this club I know where we can get the VIP room, stuff our heads full of turkey, and do whatever....