My thinking was to dash into Hobby Lobby between work and my massage, case their selection of people-sized Christmas ornaments, and pick up a few packages of the green miniature hangers that will be nearly invisible on the tiny trees.
But I got a text from my massage therapist: taco soup. I'm not stupid. I've eaten her food before.
They were feeding the missionaries. I got there when some people were having seconds on the soup and others were making inroads on the brownie bites. But they saved me enough of both, and I pushed away from her table well-fed in every possible sense.
Really good massage. Almost entirely biomechanical. I think we cleared out the last of the stuff from the enforced immobility on Friday night. My feet, ankles, and legs were not happy during the cleanout process. When we were nearly done, I started having shivers that rose up from deep within my trunk. But she was prepared for that and put another blanket on me. After the massage, I drove to two Racetrac stations before I could get a cup of hot chocolate. Finished that off and went straight to bed.
Feeling pretty good this morning. Hungry. Thirsty. Starting to get a little shivery. But I have one last tablet of Abuelita (Mexican hot chocolate, with cinnamon) in the cupboard. That should take care of the problem nicely. I could also bump up the thermostat a degree or two. I think it's set at 68 or 69, enough to take the edge off without giving me a ridiculous utility bill.
Our utility bills last year were all over the place, as Beloved got more and more ill. One of the things they don't necessarily tell you about cancer. (Or know to tell you about.) The commodes are getting less of a workout. My internal thermostat is pretty consistent. So I'm not toggling between AC and furnace.
Small consolation for the loss of the sound of his laughter. Oh damn. I'm crying.
Time to go make that hot chocolate. Looks like it might be lightly salted this morning.