This has, over all, been a good week. Hubby and I went out to dinner at Limon on Wednesday, and yesterday we went to a fog-enshrouded beach and ate snackies and drank wine until we were too chilled. Tonite, fresh-caught Washington salmon rests in my fridge, waiting to be grilled.

The dinner was lovely. The beach, a marvel of fog and waves and a long, holding-hands type of walk. (Because when I don't hold hands, I'm none too steady these days. Especially on sand, lol!)

I've also had dear friends call in the past couple of days, people I haven't spoken with in a very long time, who heard and wanted to offer their prayers, their love and light. Just warm and fuzzy, you know?

And then today I got a call from the neuro's office. The earliest they can get me in is October 15th. A MONTH from today.

Dear God.

I know, I'm not at death's door. It's a slow growing tumor. It's benign. Blah blah blah. But still. A whole MONTH before I can even see the doc who'll suck the damn thing out of my head. How much longer will it be before I can get another MRI, or before surgery takes place? We're now into the holiday season, folks. (And yes, I consider Halloween to be the start of the Holiday season.)

Angry tears were shed. Much exercise commenced. I even went into work for a couple of unscheduled hours, thank goodness. And another walk after work. And soon, the lusciousness of the salmon plus a really good bottle of wine is to be consumed, making the ending of my day better than the middle.

But still. Another month before I can talk to Mr. Neuro. That totally sucks.