Just call me Puffy!

If the first picture one posts of one's self is about the worst possible, impressions can only improve... right?

Well, nice to meet you -- I'm Carol... but today you can call me Puffy. I just returned from Urgent Care because, even though I've been slowly and mysteriously puffing for a week (last Thursday it looked like I'd had Botox injections in my lips, and I actually liked the Angelina Jolie look!), this morning it just got plain scary. My face had puffed up like a marshmallow, I couldn't see, my head was pounding, and I felt nauseous. The doctor poked and prodded, talked to me for a few minutes ("are you sure you're not on any medications?"), then prescribed Predisone, seemingly more as an experiment than a cure, with the rationale that, if this clears things up, it WAS an allergy. If not, well, on to Plan B (whatever it might be).

Unfortunately, I don't get paid if I don't show up at MS tomorrow (if I were a blue-badge -- an FTE -- I would get paid, but contractors are definitely considered unworthy workers), so I'll go to work and incite an invitation to go home. My goal for clearing this whole thing up and feeling like a normal person again is Thursday, when I have an interview with the online reading company. Cross your fingers!

Perspective is an amazing thing. When I was young and petite and cute, I didn't feel all that cute and I was positive that I was fat. Then I got old and gained some weight and I wondered why I didn't appreciate being cute when I was young. Perspective, that's why! Today I'm older, heavier and most definitely uglier than I've ever been in my life and I can't wait to be back to just older and heavier, sans the uglier.

Ah, perspective.