About Me

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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!

Friday, November 09, 2012

So tired. So weepy.

Went, like a good little Do-Bee, to the Primary activity tonight. Stayed through the music practice. Took my place as dispenser-of-canned-whipped-cream and made a bunch of short people very happy. (Sundaes as a reward for singing VERY LOUDLY and mostly on-key.) Around the time the sugar hit their collective bloodstream and they started racing around the gym, I handed the can of whipped cream over to the Primary secretary and took myself home.

Beloved did not sleep well last night. He vocalized a lot, fragments of sentences, much tossing and turning. Around 4:30 I gave up and went out into the living room. I have been dragging all day. I told Heavenly Father that it was only because I love Him and the Savior even more than I love Beloved, that I was fulfilling my responsibilities tonight. Every cell in my body was and is screaming for sleep. As soon as I got buckled into Lorelai, my eyes started leaking. Not big fat tears of self-pity. Just. Bone. Weariness.

I asked Beloved, when I kissed him goodbye this morning, if he had had nightmares. No, he just hurt all over.

Damn.

Attorney B took us (his regular secretary, his new paralegal, and me) out to lunch at a nearby restaurant today, just because. I had a most excellent chicken club sandwich with smoked bacon, chipotle mayonnaise (yum!), and a cookie that needed its own Zip Code for dessert. Business was light during lunch, so our waitress told us to help ourselves to the desserts in the buffet line, as otherwise they would just get thrown out. Oye. So dinner tonight, eaten between work and coming home to grab an ice cream scoop that never left my pocket at church (double oye), was the other half of my sandwich and another cookie.

Beloved dashed out during the day and bought shortcakes. It is a measure of his lack of energy that he did not make them. He also mooshed up some strawberries and raspberries, and in theory we would have dessert together when I got home from church. But he just wants to crash, and so do I.

I am hoping that he can sleep in at least one-hour increments. Lately it’s been more like 15-20 minute bites. And I am hoping that I can get at least six hours of sleep, no matter how many chunks it takes to get there. I just asked him if there is any reason to set the alarm for tomorrow. He confirmed that there is not.

Is that Hope lurking just out of my field of vision? I think that a good night’s sleep and a good, simple breakfast would go a long way toward fixing Ms. Ravelled. And woe be unto anyone who calls us before noon tomorrow morning!

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