Saturday I work a double, hosting during the day and waitressing at night. I try my new boots for the night shift. Will I ever learn? My feet are killing me by the time we close. Sunday I have a field hockey game at 1:30pm (thank God I can sleep in). As soon as I step on the field, I feel some shooting pains in my left foot. That’s not normal. But once I start playing, I’m sure it will be fine. It is, sort of. Whenever I stop and start again I feel it, like I can’t put pressure on it. I play the whole game.
Of course, I like to blame genetics. Specifically, Dad. He’s always had feet issues. He used to get those cortisone shots in his heels. He told me they hurt so bad but they made his feet feel so much better later.
I always call Mom; every once in a while I’ll call Dad. It’s just the way it is. Monday I call him, just to yell at him for my bad feet. And what an asshole I am – he had major surgery last week because he had a hernia, and I never called. He sarcastically lets me know he’s OK. Shit, I’m sorry. Mom told me about it. I knew it was soon, and then my life gets in the way. Excuses, excuses. (Sarah forgot, too, so I don’t feel as bad!) He’s been home for a week and just went back to the doctor today to make sure everything was fine. The first couple days were hard. He was practically bed-ridden. Or couch-ridden. Sneezing was terrible. Watching the Giants play was terrible. And Courtney making him laugh was terrible. He was super stressed out because there was a lump and he thought he would have to get the surgery again (Mom tells me later that for someone who is so so worried he always manages to sleep like a baby.) But anyway, everything is fine. The doctor says it’s normal.
Dad will not stop going on about the doctor’s and medicine and everything they do. “It really is amazing! I told the doctor’s, it’s really amazing what you guys do. They go inside, fix everything, and I wake up and don’t remember anything! I could have been asleep five minutes or five years and I wouldn’t have known the difference.” He was especially fond of the anesthesiologist – she was his favorite, referring to the anesthesia as a cocktail. “Would you like a little more?”
Dad is reminding me of the Stevers right now – super excited about something that makes me want to roll my eyes but at the same time, completely agree with him and appreciate his viewpoint. So many people take this kind of stuff for granted and Dad isn’t one of those people. I’m sure his doctor’s and nurses appreciated that. As per usual, he likes to list what’s going on at home. Mom is doing this, I’m doing this, the twins are doing this. “Umm, so, don’t know what else to tell you, I think that’s it. So you’re not coming home until…” April, for Doug and Heather’s wedding. “Right, April.” It’s so funny. Every single time I talk to Dad he ends it with when am I coming home, even though I’ve told him a million times.
Later, I check out the Groundlings website. I have been for a while now, trying to find an opening in a class and there’s been nada. This morning there was nothing, but when I check again in the afternoon, there are two openings. One works with my schedule. There’s only three spots left! I have to get it but I don’t have $500! OK, there’s a payment plan option. Done. I make my first payment. It’s official! I start improv classes Monday, November 5th. We meet every Monday and Thursday for three hours for six weeks. So excited now, but November 5th I’ll be so nervous!