While I am thankful that I do not need to run my window units or ceiling fans, it is downright nippy here in the mornings and late evenings. And we all know that I am such a delicate flower.
Last night I dug up my flannel nightgown and put it on. Then I carefully re-layered all the bedclothes: fleece blanket, cotton thermal blanket on top of that, king-sized quilt folded in half lengthwise and placed on top of that, down duvet that has seen its best days, thrown over all. I got in, adjusted the facemask for my CPAP, and slept halfway through the night. Woke up enough to shift positions (because rolling over while asleep was entirely impossible), readjusted my facemask, and went back to sleep.
Where I dreamed that the near-date experience was back in my life as a JustFriend (I must have been translated during the course of that dream, because that man irritated me nearly as much as Brother Abacus, only for different reasons), there was a new new-guy who was a deliciously good kisser (and no sign of the real new guy, but we should probably not tell him that), and Trainman popped up suddenly, greeting me with a kiss on the cheek and a nibble on the neck.
What is up with all that? Apparently when I am (A) warm and (B) mummified, my limbic brain turns to thoughts of snuggling. Warm + immobile (stuck?) = romance?
Freud would have a field day with that. Jung, too, most likely.
- Four years into widowhood, after one year of incredible happiness and nearly 14 years of single blessedness. Have given up perfect manicures and pretty hands in order to resume playing the soprano recorder and to see if I can figure out how to play bluegrass banjo. Singing in the shower. Still really, *really* love to knit!