housebound, sort of

Without makeup, I think I might scare small children.  

Although the little dog next door still recognizes me, so that's a relief.

My closets are clean.

My drawers organized.

My freezer is immaculate, emptied of the three frozen prime strip steaks from Costco, dated March 2016. The handsome single dad who lives next door happily takes them.

I even wipe down the vents in my living room AC and the plates covering all my plugs, something I don't think I've ever done before.

Robyn comes over and we watch (half of) Wizard of Lies. We'll watch the other half later in the week. 

I only venture out for food.

And to get my hair colored. 

Some concealer and a good blow-out help, but not enough. Makeup can't diminish a very swollen nose. And what looked passable in my un-windowed bathroom, doesn't look as good in better light.

But it's still a lot lot better than what I woke up to this morning.

Tomorrow is day #21 — the last day. 

Healing should begin on Thursday.  Will be so happy to get back to feeling and looking like me. And watching the redness, the dryness, the swelling, and most importantly, the pre-cancerous cells, disappear