I had to google the reference, because I had no idea what you were talking about, Ms. Tola. I’ve tried reading that book three or four times, and I cannot get through it. I’m just not as cool as some of you seem to think I am.
My best guess is that my hitch-hiker’s towel is somewhere in the vicinity of my marbles. Or the cover to my smart phone, which has vanished like piddle in the sand, as Saint Elizabeth of Zimmermann would say.
Thankfully, I have a massive amount of leftover Malabrigo and can just knit up a new cover. Or a towel, for that matter, but obviously not from the Malabrigo.
The new guy was complaining of insomnia last night, while I [irony of ironies] was snoozing soundly. Almost six hours’ worth.
I got so much done yesterday. I mean, really got stuff done, not just thought I was getting stuff done. Blew through my inbox and nearly zeroed it out. Dealt with the mail from Friday and yesterday’s too, although thankfully it was a light day for mail. Caught something on my attorney's calendar that had almost slipped by us. [This is why they pay me the big bucks.]
Examined my 401K (happy dance, happy dance!), increased my contributions beginning next payday, and pulled the last dab out of a sentimental favorite fund that was nonperforming. Moved almost $1,500 from that and other funds into the highest-performing bucket and will look at things again in three months. Played a little with the calculators on the website our company provides before shutting down the popcorn stand. Came home and logged back on to that website and did some serious number-crunching.
To my kids: I did the do-unto-others part last weekend, as inspired by General Conference and the April issue of the Ensign. Yesterday and last night I did the taking-care-of-myself part. I am doing almost everything I reasonably can to ensure that you will not have the same issues with me that you are struggling with, with your father. [I ate enough whole grains, in small amounts, yesterday to keep a small village alive. And part of that 10:00p.m. prednisone-fueled grocery run was for a special on one of my favorite species of apples that only ran until close of business last night. Roughage. Got it!]
I have long term care insurance. I have disability insurance. The company pays for enough life insurance that you could lay me down in Forest Lawn in a golden casket, with enough change leftover that everybody can go out for pizza afterward, except please remember that when I no longer need them, I want my innards to go to others who can use them, and the rest to go to medical research, and somebody else can pick up the tab for planting me when everybody is done with the shell.
I got almost six hours of sleep last night. Six! And virtually uninterrupted, though the dreams were again on the weird side. I was a younger me, and I was trying to build a new home on top of the house in Irving [i.e., add a second story], trying to get a mechanical engineer [or possibly an architect] out of my room so I could finish dressing, bickering amiably with NintendoMan’s oldest son for reasons I do not remember, and just generally being in charge of things while wishing that I had a little help.
Oh wait, that sounds like real life, doesn’t it?
I woke to find the new guy’s comment that he had insomnia and thought, If we were married, I bet we would both be sleeping better. I contented myself with maidenly modesty forbids me to comment. Because I love a little irony before breakfast. He also said that I need a T-shirt that says Prednisone Woman, and I countered that now he knew what to get me for my birthday. [Thus cleverly alerting him to the fact that I have one coming up. Method to my madness, and all that.]
I think it’s going to be another terrific day. I may or may not make it to Knit Night tonight. Another quiet(ish) evening at home might be more in order. And unlike Miz Scarlett, I cannot swear that I’ll never be hungry again! [At least not until the prednisone wears off. By the way, do you have anything that needs to be alphabetized? Brownies taking up space in your fridge? Just checking.]
- 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!