It seems like the person who’s credited with the phrase “Home is where the heart is” was really good at putting the obvious into words.
After nearly two months, I am finally back home. I arrived in Dallas on Wednesday, GPS in hand so that I didn’t get lost. My apartment felt new, like I had just moved in.
I don’t want to bore anybody with the details, but nothing happened with appointments this week. I’m still waiting for a visit with the neuroophthalmologist and I’ll likely make one more day trip to Houston this week to pick up the new Ponatinib. Other than that, it’s just a waiting game.
In fact, UT Southwestern said that it would be approximately eight weeks until they processed all of the necessary paperwork to get me in for an appointment.
I have a better chance of scheduling tea time with Barack Obama. Hm, I wonder if he knows anything about the eyes. I may just do that (Hi, secret service).
Me and my brother’s apartment lease is up at the end of the month. With all of the things I need to do to assure a smooth transition to a new apartment, I was growing restless, anxious, and impatient with things while away from home. The last thing I need is to add the stress of moving to a dinner plate that is already overflowing with things. Which brings up a good topic; moving.
Katie and I have visited at least ten places in the past three days.
Ten.
It would be funny to see a time lapse of our faces from the first day we walked into an office to the last. It’s very possible that we now look like zombies.
I mean, I’m literally dragging my leg from a running injury I sustained one week ago. *sobs*
It’s raining here, so we walk into places looking dreary, somber, and wet. With my story, I truly expect Ty Pennington to walk through the door and, using his outside voice inside, tell us that we’re not getting an apartment, we’re getting a new home.
Ty, if you’re reading this, at least bring me a Hoveround. Please.