Squirrel grenade.

One of my friends posted the link on Facebook. Not to be read with a full mouth, or bladder. Squirrel Grenade.

I tried to make it a pop-out link, but Blogger apparently has the hiccups this morning, and I kept having to undo it. So please go read it, and then come back.

I awoke at 4:00-ish, with my neck and shoulder seriously unhappy with me. I don’t know if I slept wrong, if there’s an issue with my pillow, or if it’s just some of my natural cussedness trying to express itself. It is not unlike the pain I felt about 15 years ago, when I was livid with the children’s father and unwilling to say anything about it, so my neck went into spasm and I had to borrow Firstborn’s cervical collar for a week. I can’t think of anything that I’m angry about, or should be angry about. It may simply be that I did not drink enough water after Squishy worked on my neck last night, and this is lactic acid having its way with me. I’ve been up for two and a half hours now, and it’s eased somewhat. Three rows of knitting and half an hour of puttering in the studio gave me some sense of accomplishment, at least. When I first got up (which was a major undertaking in itself) I was wondering if I needed to call in dead and drive over to Fort Worth to see my massage therapist to see what my body was willing to tell her. I’m not having any difficulty typing this, so I will probably be fine at work. But I will definitely go talk this over with Beloved at breakfast.

Which he just announced will be ready in four minutes, so I am going to figure out what I want to wear to work and then start ambulating in the general direction of the breakfast table.

I do love being married to this man, and not simply because he feeds me so well.