About Me

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Five 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!

Saturday, April 15, 2017

Utterly defeated by a packing box.

I've got the first lamp (the one that was the floor model) in place in my room with a 100w bulb, and it is glorious. After sitting here and thinking about it for maybe half an hour, I decided to open the other box and get it plugged in as well.

The good news is, I was able to use the box cutter to open the box, without sacrificing any body parts. However, I was unable to get the contents out of the box, because it would have required actual box-slashing, no small amount of grunting, and perhaps a childbirth word or two. Middlest is sleeping. Sleep has been frequent but fragile since coming home from the ER on Thursday, and I have no intention of rudely rousting my kid.

We made it to Costco this afternoon and got out slightly under-budget. We picked up KFC for the elders and for our own dinner and dropped theirs off on the way home, then unloaded the Tardis, ate our chicken (fingers for Middlest, pot pie for me), and sat in our chairs, stupefied.

Middlest went to bed. I grabbed my wallet and keys and made a quick run to the party store, hoping to find something suitable for Easter baskets for the dolls. To my delight, it was not a wasted trip. Came straight home and have been dragging around the house ever since.

I've got a bit of sinus drainage and have been popping the odd Ricola to minimize the hacking, which alarms Middlest every time it happens. Yes, I'm taking my antihistamine faithfully, and it helps. But nothing short of a resurrected body is going to stop this nonsense permanently.

I finished the first stab at the sweater body for Avery by knitting six rows of garter stitch and binding off. It's pinned out on the ironing board, where I gave it multiple shots of steam along its length earlier this afternoon.

My brain wants to do stuff. My hands are itching to create. And the rest of me is struggling to stay awake another 20 minutes so I can take my evening meds and call it a day.

I'm happy. I'm peaceful. I'm even verging on joyful. I'm also sick-and-tired. Night, y'all.

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