It's sort of dark looking outside, but that's November for you. Meanwhile, Fiorella is waiting with baited breath for the results of yesterday's voting. Please, God. please let O'Rourke win! (Yes, your girl has just revealed her political standing, but remember, her family has had to deal with mass murder first hand.)
While waiting for her driver to take her to the doctor's office and the bank, your girl was playing around on the piano. What a blessing it is, though Fiorella knows every time she touches the keys, they might, like her, go down for the count. (Fio should add that she has an electronic piano from about forty years ago that is in its dying days,)
Hmm.... A couple of months ago, when Fiorella and her son had a confrontation with that eyes-nose-ears and-throat doctors, the female member of the team noted that Fio's uvula was too thin and needed to be operated on. Your girl vehemently rejected the idea because she already had a knee that had worked better BEFORE than before it was supposedly improved. And--get this: your girl looked up "uvula" in the encyclopedia just in case she was over reacting, and she couldn't find a single word that made her nervous about her own uvula....although, because she's the nervous type, she'll check things out with a neurologist friend that she trusts the next time she sees him.
What now for Fiorella's attempted entry onto the local church music scene? Well, everyone is nice but her throat is still quite scratchy and she's having a problem reaching some of the high notes. Maybe it would help if she could locate not only a good throat doctor, but someone who would keep reminding her to keep talking in her upper register.
Has Fio been repeating herself? Has she been whining about the same things as she did yesterday and last week and the whole time you've been reading her blog? Sorry--her only excuse is that she doesn't know anything else to talk about except what she sees, hears, feels, and thinks. What about you?
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