I woke up feeling good; better than I’ve felt in several days.  I enjoyed my breakfast (we’re saving the oatmeal for lunch).  I did some work while my sweetie mad a bunch of phone calls, including one to Sloan Kettering.  That, I’m afraid, won’t work.  The scan is January 27; they wouldn’t be able to see more for at least a month thereafter, during which time they would not allow me to have any treatment.  We’ll see whether there’s another center we can approach, but that was not a happy call.

Then the phone rang, and it was my health insurance company asking me (for about the third time) to take a survey.  There appears to be no way to tell them to jump into the lake with their survey, and I’ve refused before, so I decided to get it over with.  It felt as if they wanted to find an excuse to treat me for depression.  There was nothing at all on their list of symptoms that describes me, and I’m certainly not thinking about ways of doing away with myself.  Geez.  I was extremely annoyed at the whole thing.

I decided to distract myself by baking some of the cookie dough I prepared yesterday.  Less than half of the dough made thirty cookies, and they were done in time for my sweetie, who had to leave for a doctor’s appointment, to have one for dessert for his lunch.  They came out really well.  (This was one of the types I’d made earlier for the holiday party, but I put in less cinnamon.  I liked them better.  I think my sweetie likes the cinnamon, but he wasn’t complaining about these.)

He had gone to the doctor and I had just finished my oatmeal when a friend called.  She lives out of town and I hadn’t seen her in ages.  She’s said something about coming over tomorrow, and then maybe late this afternoon, but it turned out that early afternoon worked best for her, so I said sure.  My sweetie got home before she got here, but as he’s known her for years too– she’s virtually family; our fathers knew each other as boys– that was not a problem.  She stayed until my sweetie had to start preparing his dinner, because tonight is his Gilda’s Club meeting.  Things get busy for us at that point, so we said good-bye and she went to stay with another friend who lives not far away.

So my sweetie had his supper and then we just watched TV together for a while, and then he left for his meeting.  I made myself dinner, discovering in the process that one of the supports for the dairy drawer is broken; I don’t know just what I’ll do about that.  Then I cleaned up and I’m pretty much ready to call it a day.