The show's the thing

It's been a day of taking care of business--show business, that is.

No, I've done "real" work, but I also sent a comedy calendar out to a small circle of friends and kind folks who expressed interest, then I ensured tonight's set is a tight five minutes. Last but not least, I washed the windows in my car, and filled up the window washer resevoir.

I'm ready as I'll ever be.

For Friday's deadline? Uh, well, we shall see. I also rescheduled the vet for Shwea, for I heard word of mouth on the vet I was planning to see put an end to that.

No "so-so" vets for my gal, no ma'am. We're seeing a highly-recommended vet tomorrow, and here's hoping this vet can get to the bottom of this paw business.

Last night, someone opined that Shwea might have to have her paw removed, and that possibility has been haunting me all day. Not that the person was a medical professional, but truth be told, I had a similar worst-case scenario fly into my brain once the word "biopsy" was suggested by the emergency vet.

Please let this just be me going into alarmist mode--I come from a long line of alarmists, and can't help myself. There is no situation so terrible that it can't be seen in an even worse light, at least that's been my training. Thanks, Mom.

We'll get a start on what's really going on tomorrow; until then, it's time to think comic thoughts, and perhaps put a little more work into what's left of my paying work.

And finish up that ice cream. I've never had stress that was immune to the restorative effect of ice cream, and I hope I never will.