Idawanna

Idawanna be sick anymore. And there is marked progress on the U-turn toward health. I am sneezing less. Coughing only a little less, but not so violently, praise be. I still have my 1-900 voice, though today I’m more Bette Davis than Brenda Vaccaro. I think that all counts.

I’m tempted to say that I was a bum yesterday, but I spent from about 6:00p.m. Saturday night until 1:00 or 2:00a.m. yesterday morning, and from 6:00a.m. yesterday until sometime after noon, adding the contacts on my old red phone to the ones which I had transferred from my old email account to my new one. And maybe another hour last night with address pages from my late, great paper planner, not adding so many new contacts but filling in gaps on the ones already in place. With frequent breaks to eat, nap, drink fluids, sneeze, cough, etc.

It was not the most sabbathly Sabbath I have observed, but it was quietly productive, and I did send off several emails to people to confirm that what was in the paper planner was still correct. Mostly, it was. I have much of H, and all of the letters B, O, Q, R, S, U, V and W taken care of. I have a handful of phone calls to make, later in the day, after the decongestant I just took has kicked in and cleaned-house a little more, and I don’t sound like a whiskey contralto.

I woke up ravenous, which I take as a good sign. I just finished a big bowl of cream of wheat and polished off the first of what will be many glasses of water. I am going to shred a quarter-inch stack of paper and then wash up the dishes. And then I think I will stretch out on the couch with needle and thread, to sew tiny star-shaped buttons on the three hats which were completed when I went to bed Saturday night. While listening to a General Conference talk on my phone[!]. Followed by reading a chapter in the scriptures on said phone[!]. After which I might pull up the manual and learn how to send a text message.

The phone is still too smart for me, but I am gaining on it.

I think that if I pace myself today, I can go back to work tomorrow. I’m getting a little fidgety [when I’m not downright wired from the decongestant, which no doubt played a part in all of yesterday’s organizing]. If you’re reading this from a place where you can, in good conscience, write me a long chatty email, I would love to hear from you. [Those of you who are also convalescing are specifically excluded from this invitation. You know who you are.]

But if you love me, don’t call me, or text me. [See “The phone is still too smart for me, but I am gaining on it,” above.]