Aspirations.

I posted this on Facebook yesterday and meant to get back to it before bedtime. Obviously, I didn't. Have spent a good part of this long weekend sleeping, because on Saturday I forgot to take my diuretic first thing in the morning, and by the time I was home from the hour drive to the funeral and the hour drive back, my left ankle looked, as Middlest said, as if somebody had blown up my leg with a tire pump. I took my dose as soon as I got home, and I took a nap. When I awoke, my ankle was already better. Middlest said that it only looked as if someone had smacked it with a baseball bat.

Trust me. That was an improvement. It was even better yesterday, and it's almost back to medicated-normal this evening. I've tried to divide my waking hours between sitting up in a chair and sitting up in bed with my legs stretched out, both of which help.

Middlest's mitts are complete, and handed over for class tomorrow. Middlest has been puttering today, getting things ready. We have the monthly doctor appointment first thing, and then we go to campus to pick up books and drop my kid off for class.

Since Beloved's passing, I've tried to spend the day of our anniversary and the day of his angelversary in service, either to the living or the dead. I may have mentioned this on Saturday, but I don't feel like looking back to check. I'm middle-aged. I'm allowed to repeat myself. So, the funeral was service to the living, and progress on Middlest's second mitt was service to the living, and I've begun a stealth project that I hope to complete by bedtime tomorrow, which will be service to the living. Pretty sure that the dear departed are feeling crabby with me, because I haven't given them any of my time for several weeks.

The thing I posted above was a piece of paper that I found in my scripture tote before church yesterday. Judging by the decorative trim at the bottom, I wrote this sometime between 1999 and 2010, before I met Beloved. Now I have a most suitable eternal companion, my two kids who are married and active in the church have been sealed to their sweethearts, Middlest is out of an awful marriage, the bank and I own a house which I hope to have paid off at the end of three more years, my health is stable and should allow me to serve a mission when I retire, my kids know that I tried my best to raise them, and I'm working on the other items.

This is the part where I hit "publish" and go stick my nose in the Good Book(s). Night, y'all.