Ms. Ravelled makes a plan.

I checked a voicemail last night while we were out shopping. It was for someone who wanted to lower my credit card rate. I deleted the message. Middlest just looked at me. "Are you on the Do Not Call list?"

"Yes, for years and years."

"You can report them. They're breaking a Federal law. The FCC will go after them."

So I went online and verified that I'm on the list and have been since 2003. Then I went into my phone log and made a list of all the numbers that I don't recognize since November 9, 2015. I'm going to go back into my phone and add the date and time of all the calls. There are 47 numbers on my list, after I removed the duplicates. And I'm going to report them to the FCC. It is theoretically possible that I could receive $500 from each number, which would buy a whale of a lot of yarn or pay for two or three planned vacations or cover most of the cost of the next phase of renovations.

And you bet your bippy that I'm going to document and report every unwanted call that comes in from here on out.

In other news, we flaked on Knit Night tonight. Middlest did not sleep all night, but packed both of our lunches, a knitting bag, a backpack of personal electronics and possibly art supplies, and would have caught up the laundry had I not filled the dryer with a load of whites, which I strongly prefer to handle myself. Oh, and took out the trash. And caught maybe two or three five minute naps during the day while sitting in the atrium in my office building as I worked. When I took our lunch bags down at 1:00, I was greeted by a determinedly cheerful but bleary-eyed blessing.

We ended up putting a message on the Facebook group, picking up Fourthborn, and going to our favorite sit down Tex-Mex restaurant, where we ate ourselves stupid (as Beloved would say). I have tomorrow's lunch in a to go box. Good food, great company, much laughter, and a fun server.

Middlest is snoring gently in the middle bedroom. I have done all I can do with the spreadsheet tonight and have tossed the load of lights that Middlest started, into the dryer. It's time for my meds, and I'm hoping to be asleep within a minute of my head hitting the pillow.

Oh, before I forget, I got the mess straightened out regarding the CPAP supplies which did not come. Somebody fat-fingered the shipping address, and the mis-addressed shipments have been or will be credited back to the insurance company. New supplies are on the way. So relieved to know it was a clerical error and not an attempt at insurance fraud.

OK, this time I really mean it. (Anybody want a peanut?) Night, y'all.