Patch, patch, patch.

My office manager called me today, concerned that I am not getting better. It was genuine concern on her part, not a passive-aggressive "we're losing money on you, kid, shape up!" After I got off the phone with her, I called my PCP to see if he had any slots for today. He did not, so I told the receptionist I would come to the after hours clinic. Which I did. The doctor on duty was new to me. He has a South Asian surname and the most glorious brown-black eyes I think I've ever seen. They're even more beautiful than Omar Sharif's. (Yes, I fell in love with Omar Sharif when I was a teenager watching Dr. Zhivago with my parents and again when he was in Funny Girl.)

I now have two new prescriptions, a steroid shot in my derriere and a list of instructions as long as Chutzpah's arm. To wit:

1. Take a Covid test. Good thing our free tests arrived a few days ago. This means downloading an app to my phone, having one of the bipolar bears help me capture the QR code googling how to find the QR scanner on my phone, watching some videos, and then following the instructions.

2. Use my inhaler every four hours that I'm awake this weekend, and then as needed.

3. Monitor my blood sugar, because steroids increase it. I have that kit that I've been ignoring since it arrived. No more excuses.

4. If I'm not better in a week, go in for a chest X-ray.

I have a different antibiotic this time, doxycycline. I've read the possible side effects, none of which mention suicidal ideation, so I think we're good to go. The other is benzonatate, for my coughing. Side effects sound livable, and I'll be emailing the office manager to tell her that I shouldn't drive while taking it.

Result of Covid test: negative (as I expected)

I've eaten my chili and picked the chicken off of my chicken Caesar salad and put the rest of it in the fridge for later. I'm torn between staying up long enough out here to play Wordle when the clock ticks over, or fluffing my nest and watching some Disney + while polishing off my mango smoothie.

All in all, I feel better than I did mid-afternoon. I wonder if the urge to alphabetize everything will kick in overnight and if there will be roid rage as the shot (which is supposed to last several weeks) tapers down in my system.

Could be an interesting weekend.

 

Up to scratch.

Literally. I woke myself scratching dry, flaky skin off my hand and arm. Fiercely. Relentlessly. And then I realized that I was ridiculously warm, so I detached myself from my CPAP and padded out to the thermostat in the hall. The glow from the nightlight in the hall bathroom was insufficient for me to tell whether we were set for heat or AC. So I padded back into my room, grabbed my glasses and my phone, and padded out again.

 Heat.  Fixed that, then went back to my room for my thermometer. 100.1F, or 101.1F for normal folks. Which is a great number for an FM radio station but not so much for me. I've swilled a half-litre of water and cracked open a second. I've worked all of my daily AARP puzzles. And I am worrying away on the Ricola which is currently ricocheting off my teeth, my tongue, and my hard palate.

I would vastly prefer to be horizontal and unconscious right now, but my nose is running like the bulls of Pamplona, and the minute I step into my room, I start coughing all the way up from my toes. It's a miracle and a blessing that I haven't awakened the bipolar bears.

I want my mommy. I want to be well again. I'm trying to be patient with the process, and I mostly am, but just not at this particular moment, when the alarm is set for less than two hours away. I want to lie down and sleep this off, and I want to be perfectly productive at work later today, and oh how I wish I could feel Beloved's back snuggled against me as I sleep.

Speaking of which, I just got hit with a gentle wave of drowsiness. Wish me luck.

OK, who's been praying?

(Thank you.) I had a phenomenal day today, notwithstanding a low-grade fever. I worked four hours of OT last Saturday, and I'll probably work another three or four tomorrow night, but absolutely not tonight. I've been coughing a lot more today, plus a couple of rather impressive sneezing fits, and I've used my inhaler once or twice. I'm tired, barely feverish, and significantly encouraged/relieved. I just finished the three tablespoons of Hatch chili mac & cheese that were leftover from breakfast. Body said not one bite more, so I grabbed a small container and stowed it in the fridge. That stuff is too good to waste even a single noodle.

In a few minutes I'm heading for my room to watch more WandaVision and maybe some Mandalorian. Unless I catch my second wind, I'll probably crash right after taking my evening meds.

 I saw a meme today featuring one Mandalorian, facing forward, another in profile standing next to him, and Grogu in front of both. Caption? "Two and a half Mandos." I laughed so hard that I coughed.

I wish I could wave my hands like Wanda and deposit a hot tub in the back yard. I know where my swimsuit is. I would love to poach for about half an hour and follow that with a massage and about ten hours of sleep.

Please take very good care of yourselves.

No fever this morning!

So I called in to say that I'd be driving in after getting the nail out of Diana's left rear tire. I also had them change the oil while we were there. There was still quite a bit of traffic, even though it was well past rush hour. I did stop at La Madeleine to pick up a quiche Florentine and a cup of Strawberries Romanoff, in celebration that I would soon be connected to the bigger, faster server and at least theoretically able to be more productive.

Well, kids, I kinda overdid it. I realized after walking up the eight steps from the parking level to the elevators that I had left my shiny new inhaler at home. Talk about winded! It got better once I'd logged in and eaten a few bites of the quiche, but I never felt 100%, and my neck was all tense from the drive in (that never used to happen; I love to drive), and I even got a little dozy two or three times.

I took my temperature a few minutes ago, and it was 99.8, which would be nearly 101 for normal folks like you. So it's a good thing that I followed the hunch (or maybe spiritual prompting) to bring everything right back home in case I had a fever tomorrow. Fever or no fever when I wake, I'll be working from home, because the rule is that I have to be fever-free for 24 hours without the use of medicine. And tonight blows that out of the water.

On the other hand, my ankles are looking better. I finish that medicine tomorrow.

And I stocked up at Trader Joe's on the way home from work. I have almost no appetite, but the goodies will be there when I'm ready for them. I'm feeling a little meh but mostly just tired and listless. I did enjoy watching two episodes of WandaVision, however.

I'm going to fire up the shiatsu massager and see if that helps. Night, y'all.

The cough persists.

As does the low-grade fever. The cellulitis appears to be on the wane. Which is a good thing, because sulfa pills have a loathsome aftertaste, rather like what I imagine the bottom of a birdcage to be. The doctor prescribed a week's worth, but the pharmacy gave me ten days' worth, and you best believe that I am taking every one of those nasty bozos.

Have I mentioned that I've succumbed to the charm which is "Wordle?" Today's nearly had me stumped. I generally manage to solve them in four or five clues, but there were two last week that required all six and netted me a "phew" in response. I don't know if that means the laser guns nearly got me (pew! pew!) or if it is an alternate spelling of "whew" that is, quite obviously, wrong.

I watched Avengers: Infinity War last night-into-this-morning. Spoiler alert for anyone who, like me, had not seen it: I knew a lot of Avengers were going to die. I did not expect so many, or which ones. I'll watch Avengers: Endgame after church today.

Which is my clue to wind this up, figure out what I want for breakfast, and ready my nest (including an ice pack for my lower shins), because Zoom church begins in 19 minutes.

Good Sabbath, and remember who and Whose you are.

Quick post before work.

The bronchitis seems to be gone. I didn't need my inhaler yesterday. The infection in my legs is visibly less angry, and the swelling is down. I'm about halfway through the sulfa drug that was prescribed on Sunday afternoon.

Yesterday was the best, most productive day of work I've had in weeks, and I am so thankful. I had a very slight fever when I took my temperature this morning, so I will work from home and hope for more of the same.

In the Marvel Cinematic Universe, I am caught up through Dr. Strange.  Which was an entertaining and visually confusing movie. When speaking to Middlest and Fourthborn this morning, I likened it to a snow globe designed by M.C. Escher. I had to close my eyes briefly, several times, just to keep my head clear. So tonight will be Thor: Ragnarok, and I am very much looking forward to it.

I have not knitted for something like a month and a half. I cannot tell you why, exactly: frustration with the multiply-frogged most recent project (cowl? shawlette?) might be the culprit. I look at the neatly wound cakes of yarn, and part of my mind goes "oh yes, please," while another part goes "but not now."

I need to go find two clean compression socks and symbolically gird my loins for the day ahead. I've had a tall mug of chicken broth and am nearly to the bottom of a mug of hot chocolate. Middlest is going to slice a bagel for me in a few minutes. I am all sloshy and need to send down something solid to sustain the warmth and provide some protein for the adulting which lies before me.

Wish me luck.

Sister Ravelled, Sister Ravelled, dormez-vous? dormez-vous?

There was a whole lot of sleeping last week. There was very little working, and I am wildly behind again. I'm hoping to be able to drive into work tomorrow, and I will need to get one of Diana's tires patched in the very near future.

There has been another health complication. I'm not sure if it's a reaction to the antibiotic, but I'm having a recurrence of the cellulitis in my lower legs. I went to church in person today and got a priesthood blessing after sacrament meeting, then drove up to the after-hours clinic to get checked by the doctor on duty. At one point he put one wonderfully cool hand on a hot-spot (testing for fever) and said, "I bet that feels good right now." It did. I wish I could have cloned his hands and brought the clones home in lieu of an icebag or a bag of frozen peas. (I cooked up the last of the peas a couple of days ago, alas.)

So now I have an Rx for sulfa, and I'll take it midway between my doses of antibiotic. By the way, in case you didn't know or have forgotten, sulfa tastes n*a*s*t*y. I chased it with a short glass of orange juice and half a Costco double chocolate muffin.

I finished watching Ant-Man and am about to start watching Captain America: Civil War.

Later, gators.

Two Forward, One Back

Today has been weird. I have a lot of weird days, even before the pandemic, but this one just kinda glows in the dark. Woke up with a low-grade fever, which meant no going into the office, which meant slower internet speed here at home and a potentially much less productive workday.

Last night's poaching-of-the-sinuses-in-the-shower caused me to show up at the pharmacy shortly after it had closed for the day. At first I was irritated at the change of hours, but I told myself I was not going to be a "Karen" [noun, pejorative] and started coming up with, and enunciating, reasons why it was good that the pharmacy was closing earlier than I was used to. One attitude, brought to heel and sent marching in the proper direction.

So this morning I logged on as usual and emailed my office manager that I would be nipping out at 10:00 (when the pharmacy opened) to pick up my prescriptions. There were five or six cars ahead of me when I arrived, so I worked a jigsaw puzzle on my phone until it was my turn. [Note to self: email Sister to thank her again for introducing me to that app.]

As I remarked on Facebook, you know you're looking a bit rough when the pharmacy tech tells you to go home and bundle up. I thanked him and told him I'm glad that he and the others get to go home to their families a little earlier now, and that they've been working very hard for a very long time. (After finishing Thor and watching Avengers and getting a respectable if not ideal amount of sleep, I had internalized my course correction, so I was not the Pharisee praying on the street corner to be seen by men. More like Loki after Hulk whomped him about and walked off muttering "puny god.")

I came home by way of Whataburger, because nothing says love like greasy potatoes, and because the sausage in their breakfast-on-a-bun is just spicy enough to help clear my head. For my drink, I got a small Dr. Pepper milkshake. Yes, we all know that I don't like Dr. Pepper, no matter how long I've lived in Texas. It is a truth universally acknowledged (thank you, Jane) that a foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds (thank you, Oscar).

For me, the ice cream overcomes the cloying sweetness which is Dr. Pepper. Remember, also, that the reverse is true: I love peanut butter. I adore chocolate, the darker the better. And I cannot abide Reese's cups, pieces, et al. While Nutella is another word for manna. Don't ask me. I just live here.

Where was I?

Pulled into the driveway. Parked Diana and turned off the engine. Fell asleep, but only for a brief moment. Wrangled everything into the house (dropping my breakfast sandwich, but not my shake, onto the welcome mat as I wrestled with the lock), emailed my office manager that I was wiped out, ate my sandwich, and went back to bed. The lamp by my bed is momentarily stuck in the on position, and I was not in the mood to shift the mattress and unplug it, so I just threw the covers over my head and slept almost until quitting time.

I've had one dose of rescue inhaler, and it's time for another. I've read the literature for both prescriptions, and I'll need to be extremely careful. The rescue inhaler can mess with my glucose levels, and people over 65 might have unspecified problems. I won't take the maintenance tablet until I've discussed it with my doctor, because it can seriously play hob with one's mental health, and I really don't want to add suicidal ideation to my current list of challenges.

But right now I'll take breathing for $500, Alex.

Jane Austen, the MCU, and me

I'm part of a Jane Austen reading group on Facebook. There is lively discussion on all manner of topics related to her works. In a discussion on Persuasion last year praising the late Lady Elliot and contrasting her choices with those of Mr Bennett in Pride and Prejudice, I felt prompted to comment:

(Me): Having been the (relatively) sensible one in my second marriage, may I suggest that it was exhaustion which carried Lady Elliot off?

(Another reader's reply): It could very well be... having to constantly humor a vain and foolish man, while managing a household and bringing up the children single-handedly, cannot be easy.

Word.

Last year I invested in several of the annotated versions of her novels. They are substantial books, both in content and in thickness, suitable for clocking the ignoramii at a distance of five feet or less.

Which leads me to the Marvel Cinematic Universe. I have been watching British TV on Prime / BritBox / Acorn for much of the past year and a half, which has severely cut into my reading time, but which has enabled me to remain relatively civil under trying circumstances. Recently I added Disney + to the mix, because I wanted to watch Encanto and then Loki. I've downloaded a list of the Avengers movies in chronological order and have made it through the first three. However, Hulk's movie is not available for download. So I am about ten minutes into the beginning of Thor, which I saw in the theatre with Secondborn, and which is when I began to be interested, if vaguely, in the MCU. I've also watched all of the Marvel short films that are tangential to the story arcs. My favorite is the one where Agent Coulson accidentally stumbles into an armed robbery on his way to inspect the site where Thor crash-landed.

Tae-Bo for the win.

In health news, the amoxycillin continues to work its magic. Yesterday I logged on as usual, then logged off a little after 11:00 and slept until 5:00pm. Today, so far, I've been awake and at least marginally productive since log-in at the usual time. And, if my symptoms continue to clear, I might be able to return to the office tomorrow, which would help my productivity immensely.

The prescriptions for my maintenance and emergency inhalers are ready for me to pick up. But first, a nice poaching of my sinuses in the shower. I'm tired, because I managed to work a full day. And I want to curl up in bed with Thor and maybe even the first Avengers movie, which is where I stopped watching the movies as they were released.

I would really, really like about six bites of medium rare filet mignon. I think that's an indication that I'm on the mend. I would also like to dive face-first into a baked sweet potato with butter and spices but no additional sweetener.

Time to take care of business: i.e., me, since I've spent the day taking care of business at work. Thankfully, my friend S. jumped in and got me partially caught up today. That is why I am merely very tired but not anxious or knackered.

Hello, stranger!

It's been so long since I've blogged that I was locked out and had to reset my password.

Where to begin? The last seven months have been occupied by various annoying but non-fatal health issues. I have been severely anemic and have had two iron infusions, both of which have helped. I've developed the ability to fall asleep at the drop of a hat, if I'm sitting and I stop moving. This happens at my desk at work. It happens here at home when I'm on the computer. I nearly fell sideways out of my chair a couple of weeks ago. Would that this happened when I lie down to sleep each night. I'm generally able to manage five hours before one body part or another launches me vertical.

Last weekend (a week ago) I had all manner of respiratory ick, sufficient that I called in on Monday and went back to bed for a few hours. I was able to score a free Covid-19 test at the local college that afternoon and miraculously had the result late on Tuesday. Covid not detected. After the test, I drove downtown, and a coworker brought down my laptop, headset, et al so I could work from home.

That is not going well. I have respectable internet speed, but of course it's not as fast as when I'm working off the server in the office. And because I have chronic cough and sneezing from my year-round allergies, I've had to request an exception so that I may return to the office. I may be working from home through Wednesday of this week.

On Friday I saw my PCP for a routine diabetes check and to discuss the fatigue, possible bronchitis, and propensity to fall asleep at inconvenient moments. I came home with prescriptions for bronchitis, a maintenance inhaler, and a rescue inhaler that I hope does not make my joints hurt. My labs are back. Diabetes is better than last time. Currently not anemic. And there will be cardiac testing in my future. I just hope that it doesn't include time on a treadmill. I cut that test short when I had it several years ago. And I hope that the local cardiologist is not as gorgeous as the one I saw in my old city, because it was disconcerting to have a man that good looking sticking whatever you call those disks for an EKG all over my upper torso. This was pre-Beloved, so it had been at least ten years since a man had been anywhere near "the girls."

Yes, I know that he was in professional mode, and the girls were simply speed bumps on the road to getting a good diagnosis. But my ovaries (which were still functioning way back then) took one look at him and said oh please.

This is probably enough for one sitting. I need to log on in a skosh less than an hour, and I am more than ready for breakfast.

In the Details

I've suspected it for awhile, but tonight clinched it. The Spirit likes to work the Atlantic daily crossword with me. 1-Across: Fiasco. Debacle. Debacle? OK, it's the right number of letters. D [check letter: D it is] E-B [check letter: B] A-C-L-E. I hadn't thought of that word in years, and there it was, right when I needed it. 2-Across: "Gimme one more!" I think it's "another," let's see if I'm right. A-N [check letter: yup] O-T-H [check letter: H] E-R. 12-Down: Word before blanc or Diesel. Vin? Vin. I think we both snorted at that one. I know I did.

My grandmother of the bride dress has safely arrived at Firstborn's. I bought the shoes a week ago Monday, after the bipolar bears' monthly checkups, and I wore them to church on Sunday to start breaking them in. I don't hate them, and they don't hurt. I've been slacking on wearing my compression stockings while working from home, but I've picked that up again. And I've also resumed taking the morning diuretic, which I hadn't needed for several months, but it's warming up out there and Body is starting to be a little crabby about that.

Knitting continues on the scummy green shawl. I'm knitting it with fingering yarn but am planning to knit the full number of repeats that I would if it were laceweight, or maybe splitting the difference between eight repeats and fourteen. I haven't decided which of the edging options I want.

Last Saturday I took the quilt top that's been lying fallow the past 20 years to the quilt shop for finishing as my wedding gift to Lark and her hubby. She is my first granddaughter to tie the knot. I imagine that BittyBit will be the next, as I don't think Willow plans on ever getting married. Her dad's on (at least) his third marriage, and her mom is on her third as well.

I know you're probably saying that I have no business commenting on how many times people have gotten married, given that Beloved was my third-time's-a-charm. Speaking of which, today is the eighth anniversary of our sealing in the Dallas Temple.

I had originally planned on taking yesterday and today off to celebrate, but my workload is approximately half again as much as it was before SemperFi retired, and I am trying not to drown. It helps that my new attorney is a lovely human being (I'm looking forward to meeting her in the flesh later this year; she came on board at the beginning of the pandemic last year, so we've only ever spoken on the phone, emailed or IMed) and appears to be every bit as organized as SemperFi.

Midnight is fast approaching, so I'm calling this done. Later, gators.

Tropes

One advantage of having the bipolar bears under this roof is that they continue to educate me. We have many common interests which lend themselves to nearly instantaneous mutual comprehension. A family shorthand, if you will. And individual interests that enrich daily life.

Through Fourthborn I've become aware of the concept of tropes: literary or cinematographic symbols of a story arc. And in watching multiple movies recently, over multiple days, I've realized that one of my favorite tropes is that of girl/woman/ingenue with less than ideal partner who is suddenly presented with a potentially more satisfactory partner. Think Moonstruck or You've Got Mail or Genius or The Accidental Husband. I wonder if I would find these movies half so enjoyable had my second marriage been sustainable.

Another trope which gives me less amusement or satisfaction, now that I am happily remarried (if widowed) is guy cheats on or otherwise seriously disappoints his wife/girlfriend, who rebuilds her life, or its lesser variation guy cheats on his wife/girlfriend, who takes amusing revenge. Examples of the former: The Mirror Has Two Faces or Catch and Release.  Examples of the latter: First Wives Club or Gloria Gaynor's anthem I Will Survive.

Sleep is catching up with me again. I had an eight hour "nap" last night, and I have a long but wonderful day planned. Later, gators.

FirthFest

I am bingeing all of the Colin Firth movies and TV shows that are mom-appropriate, if Mom is Ms. Ravelled. Yesterday I made a spreadsheet of his oeuvres, then sorted them out by MPAA or TV rating, if one was available. Of the 90+ options that have been released, 36 are rated R; of those, the only one I would consider watching is The King's Speech. Another 10 are not rated. Two more are TV-MA, which I'm guessing is roughly equivalent to an R. At any rate, I'm not sure mature I am, most days.

I tried to rent another two movies to watch yesterday, and neither transaction went through. I don't know if that was purely technical issues or electronic stupors of thought.

I was craving real food today, so I took a package of Trader Joe's mini-ravioli and simmered them in chicken broth with a can of thoroughly smooshed white chicken. While that cooked, I nuked a package of mixed peas and carrots. It turned out really well, especially with a fat spoonful of sour cream stirred in. I need to go put the leftovers away, as the bipolar bears are napping.

Yesterday was all screwed up, time-wise. I went to bed about 1:00am, awoke two hours later, caught a catnap before taking us to the eye doctor (Fourthborn calls him Dr. Eye-Poky) to pick up two out of three new pairs of glasses, took a much longer nap mid-afternoon to early evening, watched four movies in the course of the day, knitted like a madwoman, and utterly forgot that I'd requested and been approved to work a couple of hours of overtime.

I slept somewhat better last night but opted for Zoom church anyway. Congested and coughing a little from my allergies, plus Mothers Day is never my favorite Sunday to attend. (The year that I divorced the children's father, I beat the daylights out of the Sabbath by taking the kids and me to the Ren-faire instead. Not my finest moment as a Christian, but still, one of my better memories with my kids.)

The leftovers need my attention, and then I think I will re-watch Pride & Prejudice while finishing the second baby sock.

 

Coloring by numbers

Roughly once a quarter, I look over my 401K allocations to see if I need to move money from one bucket into another or change the percentage which goes into each bucket. Today was that day. I had three buckets: a balanced fund, a large-cap equity fund, and a targeted retirement date fund. After pushing things around a little, I kept one fund at the current percentage, decreased another fund, and increased the third. I also set up two small experiments: a small-to-mid-cap fund and an international equities fund. I've directed that a small percentage will go into each of those, and I'll see what happens over the next six to nine months. It will be interesting to see how they perform, compared with the three main funds.

I also placed another order with Gudrun Sjoden. Yet another striped shirt, two sleeveless dresses for layering, and two pairs of summer-weight leggings in bright colors.

I think dinner tonight will be those inside-out gnocchi from Trader Joe's that called my name on Monday night. I am suddenly ravenous, and Fourthborn is making waking-up noises.

Today has been a significantly better day than yesterday. I'm going to make another of those spiced almond milk drinks before bedtime and see how it affects the quality of my sleep and the quality of my workday tomorrow. But first, I need to empty the dishwasher and reload it.

And I'm pondering the feasibility of installing shelves all around my bedroom walls at a reasonable distance from the ceiling.

Unutterably weird

Nevertheless, I shall attempt to describe it. I slept reasonably well. And this may have been the squirreliest that I have ever felt. Alternating between brain fog and thoughts skittering like drops of water on a hot griddle. I was still getting things done, when I checked my email and discovered that I'd missed my 1x1 (quarterly meeting) with the office manager because I was busy checking things off my ToDo list. I'd gotten it into my head that our meeting was at 10:00, and it was set for 9:00. I missed last week's setting because I'd spilled orange juice into my keyboard and had to dash out for a replacement.

At this point, I can only laugh and shake my head.

After I finished a phone call with one of my attorneys, Middlest came out into the living room and asked if I were taking prednisone, because I'd been increasingly manic as I spoke: both faster and louder. He said that I sounded like I do when I'm on steroids.

Nope, not on steroids, because I'd be working three weeks ahead if I were. I don't know if this is a reaction to the almond milk nightcap I drank last night, or something completely random. Maybe a weird response to the second dose of Moderna? Maybe kickback from yesterday's Cherry Coke after not having imbibed for two or three months?

It did occur to me that the fact that I haven't read my scriptures in four or five days might be a contributing factor. Heaven only knows. My mind is still racing along, too loudly for Heaven to get a word in edgewise.

In happy news, this month's installment from the yarn club arrived in today's mail, and it's gorgeous. I think my neurosis about the color blue may be mitigating slightly to moderately. The yarn is an inky blue semisolid, and I'm delighted that my reaction when I saw it was OOH! rather than EWW!

It's nearly midnight, I'm freshly showered, I need to comb out my hair, I need to fold the laundry that's occupying the foot of my bed, and I want a mug of hot chocolate.

No foolin'!

I like arugula?

On the way home from work, I stopped at Trader Joe's to stock up on chocolate covered ginger and triple ginger cookies. I also picked up two bags of frozen potato gnocchi and a flatbread covered with a new-to-me cheese, arugula, and prosciutto. I baked the flatbread as soon as I got home. It will definitely be joining the rotation.

I'd never heard of burrata, a fresh cheese meant to be enjoyed within a day or two of its creation. (Thank you, Google & Thummim.) And I've had arugula before, but only as part of "spring mix" so tasting it solo was a bit of a revelation.

Right now I'm trying an experiment.  I saw a recipe for "golden milk," and I had all of the spices but ginger. Kroger was out of almond butter*, so I've used some natural peanut butter. And because I'm not enamored of standing over a stove, stirring-stirring-stirring, I'm using the microwave, one-quarter cup of almond milk at a time for two minutes at 20% power so as not to boil the mixture. The fourth installment is beeping at me as we speak.

*They were out of smooth almond butter, and chunky almond butter didn't sound sipping-friendly to me.

Verdict: the honey and the nut butter and other spices go a long way toward mitigating the medicinal taste of turmeric. I take a turmeric capsule every morning. When it comes apart before I swallow it, which happens two or three times a week, it's a total eclipse of the taste buds.

Three of the four Gudrun petticoats which I ordered, arrived in today's mail. The other is backordered until November.

I don't know if it's the placebo effect, but I am suddenly, actually, deeply drowsy. This bodes well.

Austen-tatious

Several days ago, I purchased "Austenland" via Amazon Prime.

I like Keri Russell, Jane Seymour, and Jennifer Coolidge. Each is a talented actor, and the potential for the movie to be great fun was certainly implied. Twenty minutes in, I turned it off and began to watch twelve seasons of "New Tricks" on BritBox, because it just seemed so far over-the-top that it didn't even  qualify as good-bad.

Late last night I finished "New Tricks" and, on a whim, fired up "Lost in Austen," which I enjoyed so much that I got only four-ish hours of sleep. It was everything I had hoped "Austenland" would be.

Today at lunch I picked up where I'd stopped on "Austenland," and it grew on me. I don't know if I'll ever watch it again, but I began to enjoy the multiple improvisions on a classic plot. Keri Russell did not disappoint. Jennifer Coolidge toned it down a little and revealed a heart of gold under her flashy exterior. Jane Seymour chewed the scenery in proper Regency style.

I did not enjoy the song that "Jane Erstwhile" played on the pianoforte. I liked the closing montage and song (a reprise of what she had played) even less. Just gross.

In other news, a friend posted a wonderfully silly meme today:

    Me, after hitting rock bottom, "Welp, it can't get any worse."

    Rock Bottom's older brother, "Is this the guy that hit you?"

And on that note, I am going to bed several hours earlier than I did last night, because I'm driving in to the office tomorrow to take my turn at printing and posting everybody's mail. As LittleBit once remarked to me when she was two or thereabouts, "Goodnight. I am such a tired little blessing."

The non-silent treatment

I read this article in the Atlantic before church. It brought up memories of the last years of my marriage to the children's father. I don't remember his using silence against me. I do remember his using talk radio to drown us all out. I don't know if he felt overwhelmed by the estrogen storms that swirled around him. He was seriously outnumbered. I do remember feeling overwhelmed by loud male voices (his hearing was deteriorating) spouting subtle and not-so-subtle misogyny. He was the king of passive-aggression. I was the queen of codependence. I know that I stopped sharing what was going on inside my head, because he was unable or unwilling to hear me or to work with me. He'd make a commitment at counseling, pursue it for two or three weeks, and then resume old habits. Call it ADHD. Call it undiagnosed autism. Call it what you will. I remember feeling excluded, feeling invisible, feeling hopeless.

Years later, after time, further counseling, and the Atonement of our Savior have all worked their magic on me I can look back on this period of my life with a measure of compassion. For him. For myself. When ghosts or memories arise, I can look at them from a better perspective, acknowledge them, and let them go.

In unrelated news, today I am masking up and attending sacrament meeting in person. I am quietly anticipating that. Taking the sacrament surrounded (at socially responsible distances) by my ward family. Seeing their eyes above their masks. Our bishop asked, several weeks ago, that those who are unable or unwilling to mask up attend via Zoom. If I see compliance, I'll keep coming back in person. Today I am feeling, not loneliness, but a deep and healthy hunger to connect.

Keyboard a l'orange

It was a hell of a day in the neighborhood. A hell of a day for a neighbor. But I'm glad that you're my neighbor.

I managed to spill half of my orange juice onto my desk while setting up. A few drops splashed into my work keyboard. All seemed well until I attempted to email one of my attorneys. This is the sentence which my efforts produced:

I was inally able to igure out a way to save it to the ile.

I literally had no F's to give. Funny, now, but not so much when it happened.

This necessitated a couple of phone calls and then a trip to a coworker's house, as she's our IT person and lives half a dozen miles from me and had a spare keyboard.

I slipped a couple of errands in while I was out, and I ended up taking nearly two hours of PTO in the late morning, which cut into my productivity like you wouldn't believe. On the other hand, I enjoyed a fresh, hot chicken pot pie for an early lunch at my keyboard (eaten with one hand under my spoon as it passed across the new keyboard), and some Ghirardelli dark and I'm not going to tell you how much blueberry cheesecake ice cream.

I am now retiring to my boudoir to sulk while watching multiple episodes of "New Tricks" and knitting away on the gorgeously self-striping sock. That yarn really stands up to multiple bouts of frogging, and I couldn't be more pleased with it.

Stimulating.

After getting an official-looking letter that said I'd be getting a nominal amount, the deposit hit my bank today. It will pay for all of the bipolar bears' dental work, for which I am profoundly relieved and grateful. There should be a bit left over for fun things for each of us.

I get, but do not always take the time to read, the Modern Daily Knitting weekly newsletter. Based on an article in a recent issue, I've set up a monthly self-care date. Today is my first official one. I spent it at the office. Before I go to bed in a few minutes, I'm going to empty out my purse.

I put a few more rounds of ribbing into the current sock. I am loving this yarn.

Today I wore a Gudrun dress to work over a striped tee and a petticoat. It felt so good to be dressing up a bit.

Body is tired. Brain is going pingety-ping. Time to shut this down and putter off to bed.

There are times when I hate being right.

Last night was one of them. The Insomnia Fairy did, indeed, pay me a call. I got maybe three hours of sleep before my head exploded. I did manage to get another couple of hours before work, and I was dragging all day.

I've cast on a sock for me, out of the self-striping yarn I bought from Modern Daily Knitting. I'm using a free pattern recommended by the manufacturer and am about halfway done with the ribbing for the cuff. I'm really liking this yarn and am discovering that yarns which are 75% wool and 25% nylon can have a wide range of textures. I have some that is rather limp and almost squeaky. This feels slightly dry, a bit bouncy, but not scratchy. I really can't feel the nylon as it slips through my fingers.

Still enjoying New Tricks. I can easily identify with Brian, who has mental health issues, a phenomenal memory (OK, that's not an exact equivalent, for me), and a serious case of oh-look-shiny with all of his projects. I love that while his friends rib him about his eccentricities, they also love and respect him. He's the team's geek, and they rely on his strengths. I also identify with Esther, his wife. It's one thing for me to deal with the pluses and minuses of my own quirks. It's another to savor and/or work around those of my beloved bipolar bears. (Unlike Brian, all three of us are consistently med-compliant.) Esther just rolls with it. Our generation of women were reared to tend to the needs of others. That is a most excellent thing. It builds character; it builds families; and it builds communities. And we're not always good at appropriate self-care. But we can be taught.

Running on empty

I stayed up way too late last night, or should I say this morning, watching New Tricks on Britbox. I am learning all manner of British slang, much of it in the realm of childbirth words. Think R.E.D. (the first one; I haven't seen the second one as yet) but with retired cops instead of retired spies. The soundtrack is rocking!

I am drowning at work. We had our dental cleanings on Monday. I spent the rest of the day reading and watching Rosemary & Thyme. We got our second vaccinations last Wednesday, and right before I was due to log in on Thursday, I had spectacular rumblies in my tumblies. I gratefully accepted the option of taking the day off to recover.There was only the one episode, but I really didn't want to be more than five feet from the loo, just in case.

That same day, the washing machine repairman came and determined what the problem is. A pump has burned out, and thankfully it's covered by warranty, but he had to order the part. With any luck, he will be back this coming Thursday to install it.

Wednesday I will be going in to the office to print off and send out the mail. I don't anticipate getting much done in the way of my attorneys' dockets that day. I may need to request more overtime. I'm good, and I'm thorough, but "we have learned by sad experience" that there are only so many things one can accomplish in a given chunk of time, even with the assistance of one's guardian angels.

Mine are probably on furlough after protecting me during that tumble down the stairs four weeks ago tomorrow

In knitting news, I finished another pair of baby socks.

I am one tired mama, and I suspect that the Insomnia Fairy has plans for me tonight. Wish me luck.

Fat-bottomed Loo

Still getting used to it. It's louder and faster than the prior one. Massive whoosh with less water, and done. No longer need to fill up the tank with a one-quart measuring cup before flushing. All very nice. But the Squatty Potty doesn't fit neatly against the base, so it either tilts up at the back or juts out at the front, creating a possible tripping hazard.

Definitely not something I could have foreseen.

In knitting news, I'll finish another baby sock before bedtime and cast on its mate. I'm currently 4.5 pairs of socks behind the goal which I set when the pandemic sent us home, that of two pairs a month. Still, it's an impressive haul. Not sure if I'll stop when this pair is done or extend the challenge. I'm ready to knit a pair of self-striping socks from my recent Modern Daily Knitting purchase to coordinate with my Gudrun outfits and petticoats.

The sock is calling my name, and I need to catch up on my reading.

The week got (somewhat) better

On Thursday I went down to the office and printed the mail for everyone. We are doing a 9-10 day rotation. It mostly went well. The postage meter jammed when I ran a bunch of envelopes just before taking my lunch. After a couple of phone calls, I was able to get it running again. On the drive to and from the office, I listened to roughly an hour and a half of Anna Karenina. There are just under eight and a half hours remaining. There is light at the end of my reading tunnel.

I've also begun reading Lady Susan on my Kindle app. I wonder if this was the first work featuring a female anti-hero in the English language. It was written c.1793-1794 but not published until 1871. Anna Karenina was written in 1873. Wuthering Heights was written in 1846. (I do not consider Catherine a heroine. I think she's a spoiled brat.) Gone with the Wind was written in 1935. (I do not consider Scarlett a heroine, either.)

Next week is going to be incredibly busy. And spendy. Dentist on Monday. Our second Moderna vaccine shots on Wednesday, with the distinct possibility of being knackered for the next several days. Thankfully, we will not be out any cash for that. And on Thursday, the repairman is coming to work on the washing machine.

I've watched the entirety of Scott & Bailey this past week. It was well-written but not exactly edifying. I've signed up for BritBox as of today, and I'm watching Rosemary & Thyme as a palate cleanser. The writing and acting are not particularly good, but it's funny at odd moments.

Brain and Body seem to be in agreement that I could go to bed right now and maybe sleep through the night.

Oh, bleep.

Oh, bleep! Oh, bleep! Oh, Bleep! OH, BLEEP!!!!!

So, we've been waiting a few weeks for the part to come in, to fix the commode in my bathroom. Our wonderful plumber came this morning, only to discover that the part doesn't fit. Further research revealed that my wonderful, eco-conscious, ergonomic dual-flush commode has been discontinued. It has now been replaced with a wonderful, ergonomic, reasonably eco-conscious model with a traditional lever handle. To the tune of several hundred dollars. I've arranged for a transfusion from my credit union so that I may pay for this.

Our wonderful plumber checked the washing machine, out in the garage, to discover that its refusal to drain is not a plumbing problem. That freezing spell killed something in our two-month-old washer. I've put the word out on our Relief Society Facebook group for the name of a reputable repairman. I've also arranged for a withdrawal from my 401K to cover whatever this is going to cost me.

I also need to come up with $2K apiece for dental work for the bipolar bears. I could really use a good cry about now, but I can tell that it's stuck in crosswise. You're likely to find me eating my feelings for the next few days.

Oh, bleep.

Grumblings

I follow Sistas in Zion on Facebook. I'm not sure how to categorize them. They are faithful members of the Church, and before the pandemic, they would frequently appear at the joint venture between the Relief Society and Deseret Book which is known as Time Out for Women. I've attended that twice since it's been offered, but they were not presenters either time. They share their perspectives on what it's like to be a Black member of a church which began as various tints of White. As the decades pass, and membership around the world has grown, the complexion has become more varied and interesting. The culture is changing more slowly, as culture does. Thanks to the writing of these sisters, and the greater transparency about Church history, my perspective continues to broaden and deepen.

I read a post today in which one of the Sistas narrated her inner dialogue while reading the 23rd Psalm. Some of her questions are analogous to my own, and inspired my comment: "My late husband and I used to talk about the concept that we knowingly and intentionally chose each and every thing that we experience here on earth. I maintained then, and still maintain, that I would not have signed up for some of my experiences, nor would my children. When I was new in the faith, I believed that the universe ran like clockwork. If I obeyed A, then the blessings for that obedience would flow. Maybe not immediately, or where was the faith, but directly. I resisted the idea that randomness was a part of the plan, that the promised protections were intermittent and incremental rather than continuous. Oh dear. I feel a blog post coming on. Thank you for making me think."

This, dear readers, is that blog post. It may be one of several. Watching historical fiction or adaptations of Jane Austen's novels tends to make me think. From The Musketeers, an extremely loose (in multiple senses) adaptation of Dumas' novel, I've pondered why it should be treason for a queen to be intimate with someone other than her spouse and king, while the king was free to dally with or seduce anyone he chose, without it reflecting badly on him, much less be considered treasonous. Yes, it was important for the king to know that his son was a legitimate heir to the throne. And yes, actual history has been massively complicated by illegitimate sons who wanted to be the next king. What kept running through my mind was a phrase from the Book of Mormon about the descendants of the first Nephi: "pretended nobility."

The only nobility we mortals can claim devolves from the fact that we are literally the spiritual children of our Heavenly Parents.

Reading the annotated edition of Persuasion has opened my eyes to the cultural mores and ideals of that time. I am relieved to have arrived on earth when women have somewhat more freedom to act than in Regency times. During my lifetime, women have gained the right to take out loans without a man's signature on the instrument. Once we cleared the cloud on the deed, I was able to refinance the mortgage in my own name. This house is not entailed to Beloved's eldest son. I have an interesting, well-paying job in a traditionally female role. (And my life would be considerably different had I been born a male. I would be retired from some sort of profession. I might have been a CEO with a golden parachute. My 401K would be significantly fatter. My children would never have known hunger, nor neglect. They might still have their current physical and mental health challenges, but we would have had greater resources to deal with them. I would not have invested a significant amount of time, attention, and anxiety in the effort to protect myself, and my children, from sexual predators.)

On the other hand, I would not be sealed to Beloved. And I would much rather have served briefly as a Relief Society president, than several years in a bishopric or stake presidency, had the Lord been inclined to call me. With all the frustrations of an aging body and a misogynistic, racist, and materialistic society, I'm still glad to be a modern woman.

P.S. Sherry, you asked about my favorite Jane Austen adaptation. That would be the 1995 Sense and Sensibility, with Emma Thompson et al.

For this I put on a bra?

Theoretically, the plumber was coming today with the part to finish fixing my commode. Given what a mess North Texas was all last week, it's likely that he got stuck on another job or a fresh emergency. Does not change the fact that I have been shoehorned into a bra for the greater part of this day, and the girls are not happy about it.

I've finished reading Persuasion. The annotated version was highly edifying and a bit of a slog. I am, nevertheless, going to order annotated versions of as many other of her works as possible. I found myself getting impatient with the ending. In the Root/Hinds movie, they have a nice kiss on the street (which doesn't happen in the book), her father and sister are oblivious jerks when the good Captain comes to ask for her hand (they are better-mannered in the book), and we get to watch them literally sail off into their future together. That movie is my second-favorite Austen adaptation. I like it a vast deal better than the book.

I am now going to log off and finish watching Bramwell. I'd like to crawl through my phone and pinch the head off both the heroine (who is becoming sullen, whiny, and bitter) and her former fiance (who is revealing himself to be an opportunist of rapidly fading charm). I am delighted, however, with the autumnal romance of her father and the posh lady. I know from personal experience that autumn love is the sweetest of all.

I do rather wish that Beloved could pop in for an evening or two. I'm trying to be careful about the media I'm consuming and after eight years, I could do with a conjugal visit. He was enormously fun to kiss. I don't expect that to have changed since last we smooched.

As Kenny Chesney sings, everybody wanna go to heaven, nobody wanna go now.

Daruk, Daruk, Daruk, Daruk of Earl Earl Earl

Daruk is a character in The Legend of Zelda Breath of the Wild. Mel-Mel and Squishy came by tonight, properly masked and socially distanced, and brought us Christmas. Quick, take a look at him, then come right back. He reminds me so much of Beloved. Daruk and three of his cohorts came for Middlest and Fourthborn. I got a gorgeous red and white mug, which has been properly christened with cocoa and is now soaking in the sink, three bars of Godiva goodness (if I were still variations on the theme of blonde, we would be Goldilocks and the Three Two Bars), and a goats-milk lip balm which I will try out when I go to bed in a few minutes.

Work was amazing today. I worked six hours of overtime on Saturday to try to make up for the three days of weather-related inactivity, and I made an enormous amount of progress. Today I got my primary inbox whittled down to less than 30 items and both of my team-related mailboxes effectively managed and cleaned out. I also worked all of my ToDo's and all but two items of incoming mail. If I have another day like this tomorrow, I should have time to get a little ahead on my mandatory compliance activities.

I've discovered another wonderful BBC series on Amazon Prime: Bramwell, about a female doctor in Victorian England and all of the nonsense she has to put up with to get taken seriously and to provide healthcare for the poor. She's confronting her own class prejudices, dealing with her very conservative and very loving father, who is also a practicing physician, and learning what the workhouses and asylums were like. Jemma Redgrave is the star, and she's amazing.

Jane Austen is calling my name. Later, gators!

Adventures and "interesting times"

As you are no doubt aware, the US is experiencing severe winter weather. It is particularly hard on Texans. Our homes are built to endure heat, not arctic temperatures. Our power went out briefly about 3:00am on Monday morning and was restored 15 minutes later. I slept through that, waking a little before 8:00am on my own, as my clock radio was flashing because of the outage. We had power, but we had no internet. I could not get my router to fully reset. We lost power for good around 10:00am and started adding layers of clothing.

That night Middlest bundled up like a polar bear in his room, and when I awoke for a comfort break around 1:00am yesterday, I invited Fourthborn to join me in my room. We may or may not have slept. Around 3:00am, we were all most definitely awake, so Fourthborn and I sat up, and Middlest sat at the foot of the bed, and we talked until a little after 7:00am, when I texted our friends who had offered their home if we needed it.

We packed up and headed out. The roads were treacherous, but I grew up in Idaho and know how to drive on them. About half of the signal lights were out. Our friends fixed us scrambled eggs and pancakes. We thawed and visited and thawed some more. We were all masked, except to eat or hydrate. They've both had both of their vaccinations, and the three of us have each had our first. My kids crashed mid-afternoon in the guest bedroom and were still sawing logs when I went upstairs to an incredible fold-out bed a little after 9:00. Easiest way to catch you up from that point is to steal from various Facebook posts.

Post the First: In which your intrepid heroine missteps and executes an impressive back somersault down the stairs. (I crumpled into a neat little ball and rolled.) Nothing broken. Neck is fine. Scared the dickens out of my friends. Toes, right shoulder, and a couple of fingers are likely to be colorful in the morning. Heart rate is nearly back to normal. CPAP is plugged in. I'm [soon to be] dappled and drowsy and ready to sleep. Y'all, I'm *warm* and it's lovely. (This was about 9:30 last night.)

Post the Second: Pleased to report that I'm none the worse for wear after last night's "let's roll down the stairs" adventure. No visible bruising. Barely more than the normal amount of stiffness. Neck is a little more creaky than usual, but I attribute that to sleeping in a (blissfully comfortable) strange bed. Slept like a rock. At the urging of my kids and our hostess (who is a physician's assistant), I am reluctantly downing *an* ibuprofen. (One works as well for me as 2 or 3 work for many people.) And I might go take a nap. (This was about 10:30 this morning.)

Post the Third: We are home. We are safe. I was only able to drive Diana partway up the driveway, even with Middlest pushing, but she is not hanging out into the street or impeding sidewalk traffic. In the 45 minutes or so that we've been home, we've rebooted the furnace, the router, this computer, and the oven is preheating to bake a box of stuffed green peppers that we didn't take with us to [our friends']. When we walked in the door, the temperature was 55F. It was up to 56F when I checked a few minutes ago. In an update to last night's excitement, [our friend the PA] encouraged me to follow up with my doctor if my neck and shoulders continued to hurt (they were only slightly more tender when I awoke this morning, and two ibuprofen ~ yes, I took a second one an hour or two after taking the first ~ have worked their magic). Which I will, of course, if things start hurting. At this point, still no bruising. I responded: "Seriously, I feel as good or better than I have in weeks. Maybe I did a hard reboot of my body?" (Posted about 5:30 this evening.)

As of this writing, the temperature is now 59F. Which suggests that when we wake in the morning it will be our preferred 69F. We seem to be warming up at a little more than 1F per hour. I would insert degree marks, but my right monitor, where I park my Word and Excel documents, is not communicating with my CPU, and I'm not in the mood to troubleshoot. I did not take that possible nap while at our friends' today, so I might go to bed in an hour or so. Bonus: this house is all one level, so no chance of falling downstairs!

I'm a little miffed that at my next checkup, I will have to disclose last night's adventure. I hadn't had anything that could be considered a fall since my chair broke at work and tumped me on my derriere. I'm not quite sleepy, but I think I'll bum another ibuprofen from Middlest and watch an episode or two of The Musketeers. I'm in the mood for some mindless entertainment.

Night, y'all. Be careful out there.

Winter has swaggered down from the North.

There was a huge wreck in Fort Worth yesterday that made the national news. Several people have gone Home because of it. Snow is forecast for the near future, and we have our taps dripping slowly to avert burst pipes. I'm grateful and relieved to have had our groceries delivered before the roads got bad. I wouldn't want someone to get in a wreck, just to keep us fed.

A minor downside to working from home is that I won't get any snow days or ice days this winter unless a hailstone the size of a moped comes through the roof and lands in the hall between my boudoir and the living room. On the other hand, the chances of my falling hopelessly behind are minimal.

I'm nearly caught up on reading Persuasion. The annotated pages take as long or longer to read than the text which they accompany, and they chop the flow for me. However, I'm learning context and subtext that I would otherwise miss, so it's worth it.

I started watching the BBC's 2007 Sense and Sensibility last night and managed to add several rounds to the current baby sock while doing so. I much prefer Dan Stevens to Hugh Grant as Edward Ferrars. Or should I say, I vastly prefer him? In the second episode, he is chopping wood for Elinor's family in order to productively manage the anger he feels at his social predicament. He doesn't sulk. He doesn't swear or punch a hole in something. He does something useful to serve and bless the woman he loves but is honor-bound not to have. I find it noble and deliciously attractive. It's the sort of thing a man who holds and honors the Priesthood would do. Beloved certainly did.

I do miss that man. Not with the searing pain of the newly-bereaved. It's quiet, like breathing or my heartbeat. With each passing year the excitement to see him again brightens and sweetens. I wish every woman could experience this kind of love.

Good day at work + The Durrells

The overtime that I put in on Saturday helped me to get quite a few things accomplished. I did spend an hour and a quarter on the phone (my cellphone) with tech support because there was a push over the weekend, and I forgot to change my password on Friday or Saturday, and I was locked out. There's still one smallish glitch that it turns out didn't get resolved, but I have a workaround for that, and I'll try to get it fixed tomorrow after we return from getting vaccinated.

People who think the British have no sense of humor need to watch The Durrells. I've just finished the third season (what a cliffhanger!) and spent much of it snorting at snark or giggling like mad.

That's all you get today, my dears. I have a bowl of oatmeal calling my name, and I want to eat it while the phone charges so I can finish my studies, and I want to read a chapter or two of Jane Austen. And I also want to be in bed an hour ago. Ish.

Zola-ology

Tonight after work I finished watching the second season of The Paradise.  Screenplay by Andrew Davies, who also wrote Sanditon (which I also enjoyed), the 1995 version of Pride and Prejudice, Daniel Deronda (loved it, especially seeing Hugh Bonneville play a cad), 2008's Sense and Sensibility (which I am waiting to watch until during or after we read it in my book club),

Tonight I've had enough functional synapses to dive into the annotated Persuasion. Right now I'm waiting for the brownies to cool, and then I shall read some more. But I don't want to stay up too late, because ~

WE HAVE APPOINTMENTS FOR OUR COVID-19 VACCINATIONS ON TUESDAY!!!!!

~ and this article in Atlantic says that research suggests getting sufficient sleep in the days before getting the shot may minimize any side effects. We're getting the Moderna, which is presently known to be the drama queen of immunizations. SemperFi had to take the next day off after getting his, and he's in way better physical shape than I am. I've proactively arranged to take off Wednesday if necessary. Another article in Atlantic explains why it's a good thing if the body goes berserk after the second dose of vaccine.

The house smells heavenly. Time to divvy up the brownies and take one of my servings back to my room and my book. I'm working a little overtime tomorrow, to catch up my virtual desk after dealing with my literal desk all day yesterday. Eighty emails waiting for me when I logged on this morning. Eighty. Oye!

Hand sanitizer is the devil.

It burns us, precious. I will not show you a picture of my crabby, crinkly, exceedingly clean hands. Today it was my turn to go into the office (!!!) and deal with the paperwork that has crept, strolled, and/or flooded in, for my one-and-a-half dockets, while we have all been working from home. SemperFi has been mucking out the mail cubby any time he's needed to go into the office. Office Manager said during last week's quarantine check-in that my desk was buried. She was not wrong, but because it was SemperFi doing the burying, there were half a dozen or so neat stacks, all between four and six inches tall.

First item of business: print off my list of closed files. Second item of business: file as many documents as possible, either into their respective red ropes or into an A-Z sorter. Mystery documents into a small pile of their own, for further investigation. Then start pulling red ropes for closed files and chucking their contents into the top basket of a double-decker rolling cart. I decommissioned 44 files today and emptied 11 or so trial notebooks. This required two big trips to the shredder bins and a few quick dashes with handfuls of paper after I'd figured out the mystery documents.

My desk is now as orderly as SemperFi's. The A-Z sorter is filled with neatly clipped bundles of documents for open cases which were opened after mid-March. They do not have red ropes at this time, except for a couple where there were massive amounts of stuff, so I struck out the names on the labels and wrote in new ones. That'll do, pig, that'll do.

Dinner the First was two of the simplest cheese quesadillas: flour tortillas, folded in half around grated cheese, then nuked. Dinner the Second was a couple of hours later: really good oatmeal, nuked with dried cranberries and a fat spoonful of nut butter. Dessert has been a tallish mug of Mexican hot cocoa with a spritz of whipped cream. I am ready to brush my teeth, take my meds, and go to sleep.

I started reading my new annotated Persuasion. I do not have the brainpower for it until I get some sleep. Re-reading part of a chapter I'd read earlier this week, this time with footnotes, made me feel as if I were having a deep philosophical discussion with Hugh Nibley, whom the children's father and I fondly referred to as Brother Footnote.

I did manage to wash one load of laundry and get it into the dryer. And I am finished with adulting for the day.

Harrumph. Also, poohbah!

 

Thanks to the comments of several of my fellow Janeites in the reading group, I've ordered my first annotated copy. (Persuasion.) In theory, it will arrive day after tomorrow. I'm hoping it will reduce the amount of toggling between chapter and Google. Curiosity about "quarterly sessions" in Chapter Three led me to "assizes" and then to wondering how they might be related to, or different from, an American grand jury. (Did you know that the United States and Liberia are the only two countries who still use the grand jury system? I did not, until tonight.)

 

In other Austen-related news, I rented the forgettable "Modern Persuasion." Best thing about it was that the heroine's cat is named Wentworth. (Yes, I am praising with faint damns.) Although Bebe Neuwirth did a fine job as the modern equivalent of Lady Russell. She was both forthright and apologetic; so, not consistent with the character as written but far more palatable to my modern sensibilities.

 

There has been no knitting today. Yesterday I frogged the *maybe it was going to be a mitten*.

I'm not bored. But the Inspiration Fairy has decanted for Club Med. I am sitting here with an ice tea spoon in my mouth and an open jar of Nutella.

I enjoyed watching Dr. Thorne so much that I put several collections of Trollope's works on my shopping list. I've just downloaded The Barchester Chronicles to my Kindle after deleting the YA novel with the barn language. If y'all will excuse me, I'm going to retreat a couple of centuries and adjust my attitude.

Surely.

That word jumped out at me in my Book of Mormon study last year. Today I became curious about how many times it's found in the scriptures: 271 in the Old Testament; 7 in the New Testament; 49 in the Book of Mormon (I wonder how many of those are in the Isaiah chapters); 7 in the Doctrine and Covenants; 10 in the Pearl of Great Price; and 88 in various study helps.

Surely is an adverb, "1. used to emphasize the speaker's firm belief that what they are saying is tru and often their surprise that there is any doubt of this. 2. with assurance or confidence." If the scriptures, or the Spirit, or authorized servants of the Lord, say that behavior A will surely produce consequence B, then that is what will happen, whether it the happy result of obedience or the grievous result of disobedience. You can take it to the bank.

That's all I've got for you tonight. I'm not feeling sufficiently inspired or diligent to read all of those citations. I need to pick up more milk, and I want dinner and a bit of ice cream.

Friday, blessed Friday

I did not fall asleep during the virtual staff meeting.

I found out how much my raise is going to be. I would be pleased with it, had this been a normal year. I'm both relieved and a little abashed, given how many people are looking for work. It takes effect at the end of next week.

My first skein arrived for this year's yarn club. The color name is Barcelona. I've never been to Spain (but I kinda like the music, LOL). To me it looks like Albuquerque on steroids. Do you remember the Southwest colors that were so popular in the mid-80's? Right color families, greater saturation. This might end up as socks-for-me, or combined with another skein from the same dyer to make a cowl. I'm going to let things percolate for a bit.

New yarn shop a (very) few miles north of me. Their grand opening was today. I may go check them out tomorrow.

I've got less than 14 hours to go in Anna Karenina, to which I am listening (and listening, and listening) on Audible. Maggie Gyllenhaal's narration is superb. I'll be driving in to the office one day next week, so depending upon traffic, that should knock out another two to three hours.

Why am I driving in, you ask? to empty out the mail cubicle. Office Manager said during our staff meeting that SemperFi has covered every available inch of my desk with mail and deposition transcripts. I will have to sort that out before I can start decommissioning the red ropes that contain closed files. The man dearly loves paper. I suspect that I will fill at least one, and possibly two, of the three locked recycling bins. I will take a fresh jar of Nutella. I have an ice tea spoon in a drawer at work. And on the way home, I hope to stop at Trader Joe's. I've been there once or twice since last March. And I am craving their triple ginger cookies.

I suspect my phone is charged-enough for me to watch another episode of Grantchester before calling it a day.

I'm almost caught up.

After months of struggling with my workflow at the office, I am suddenly and inexplicably* and most gratefully almost caught up. It's both wonderful and a little unnerving.

I'm getting a little fed up with the good vicar in Grantchester. I can understand the crisis of faith, the difficulty of having to choose between the woman he loves but didn't have sense enough to propose to before she married someone else, and now can't marry because a vicar can't marry a divorced woman. Which I think is absolutely stupid, but we're talking about the 50's and a very conservative church, and I think it was the same for bishops in my Church until recently. Maybe still is; I couldn't say for sure, but Beloved married a twice-divorced me after having served as a branch president (like a bishop for a small congregation) when he was married to his first, late, Beloved.

Anyway. He smokes too much (the vicar, not Beloved) and he drinks too much, and as three of his friends have told him, he has a bad habit of disappearing when they need him the most. And he has a serious weakness for pretty women. I don't think he quite gets the meaning of repentance. If you repent, then you don't keep doing the same damn thing over and over again and whining about how badly you feel about what you've done. (Yes, the Lord understands that we are fallible, and sometimes we do do the same damn thing over and over again until the repentance sticks. As I've said many a time, direction is more important than speed.)

*Inexplicably. I think what it might be, is that after a lapse of three or four months in which my gospel study and my Book of Mormon reading just petered away in favor of reading political opinions and praying that the election would turn out the way that I wanted, I have a visual, organized system to keep myself on track. I am midway through week four, and every day it's easier to stay awake at the keyboard, and I'm less distracted (at work, if not in reading Church stuff, but I'm not tumping over sideways in mid-read nearly as often)

My W-2s arrived in the mail today. Maybe I can get my tax return knocked out on Saturday?

The phone battery is down to 20%. I'd estimate my personal battery at about 12%. Time to plug the phone into the charger and Ms. Ravelled into the CPAP. Night, y'all.

A soupçon of recognition

In sifting through and whittling down my inbox at work, I discovered that a letter I had created will soon be converted into a template for all of the secretaries to use. (That plus too many dollars will buy me not-my-favorite hot cocoa at Starbucks.)

What is my favorite hot cocoa, you ask? Currently, 3/8 of a block of Abuelita (Mexican hot chocolate) and 10-12oz of milk in a tallish mug, nuked in three stages as follows: two minutes at half power, stir, two more minutes at half power, stir again, two final minutes at half power, stir like crazy, spray a nice swirl of ReddiWip on top, then sip and feel those old bones start to thaw.

I've begun reading a YA novel on my Kindle, as palate cleanser from Howards End. It's not much of a success as a palate cleanser. Stepping up momentarily upon my Victorian/Edwardian soapbox, I do not believe the S-word and the B-word belong in YA novels, regardless of how actual YA's may choose to speak.

I'm nearing the end of season two of Grantchester, and my phone is currently in the charger. The last couple of episodes have been rather dark. By "rather" I mean that the vicar, his unhappily married female friend, and the policeman have each had a meltdown, and when I plugged my phone in there'd been a fistfight and a shouting match.

So I read a few chapters of the YA novel and am waiting for a batch of StoveTop to be edible. And then I'm going to spend three or four hours in the 1950's, hoping for a little sunshine in Old Blighty.

There is no there there.

Challenge in my non-Austen reading group: Book that starred an Oscar winner in the movie: Howards End, by E.M. Forster. (Emma Thompson) Three stars at most. I know that this is considered a modern classic, and maybe it is in England, but I found it difficult to summon enthusiasm for any of the characters, or their inner thoughts, or the plot as a whole. It's as Gertrude Stein said, "There is no there there." I wonder if the movie is any more interesting? Emma Thompson's pretty amazing.

I'm now into the second season of Grantchester and am going to fit in one more episode before calling it a night.

Amazon package arrived for me today. Feeling it through the plastic envelope, I couldn't imagine what it might be. Too small for a book, and not quite the right shape. Ta-Daa! A six-pack of 08 black Micron pens for coloring in larger bits when I'm tangling.

I had another good day at work, very productive, and I'm getting closer to being approximately caught up. This will be made simpler by the fact that SemperFi is retiring at the end of May, and he's been told that we're not getting any new cases, just polishing off the existing ones. I will miss working with him. It's been easier, working from home. Because of the pandemic, the courts keep rescheduling our trials, so there have been no trial notebooks to prepare (huzzah!), and none of the usual pre-trial intensity on his part and concurrent anxiety on mine. Attorneys, even the best and kindest ones, get intense leading up to a trial.

I could probably think of more things to say, but I would rather go feast my eyes upon the good vicar. Night, y'all.

No posts at all, last year? I make up for it tonight.

Mostly I just hunkered down, working from home, and enjoying the company of my bipolar bears. I'm still working from home. The commute is wonderful. All of fifteen seconds from my bed to my work desk, which is set up in the living room.

I drew a lot last year, until I didn't. When the pre-election anxiety got too strong, I started binge-watching British TV via Amazon Prime. Victoria. Poldark. Sherlock. Elementary. Good Omens. This year I've joined a Jane Austen reading club on Facebook, in addition to the local(ish) group I joined last year. (It wasn't all TV. I read Bolton's expose, and Woodward's first one, but not his second, and not the niece's book. Interspersed with lighter reading. I particularly enjoyed Becoming Duchess Goldblatt.)

I have a Kindle edition of Austen's six finished novels plus The Watsons and Sanditon. I've read the latter two works. Sanditon was blown up into an eight episode mini-series that bears little resemblance to the original. (The guy who plays Sidney ~ Theo James ~ is drop-dead gorgeous. His character, along with Tom's wife Mary and the ingenue, Charlotte, are the most sympathetic characters. The costuming is lovely, the seacoast makes me want to travel, and the idiocy of most of the characters makes me want to spit.) We are going to begin reading Persuasion on February 1. I love the movie featuring Amanda Root and Ciaran Hinds. I've also watched five versions of Pride and Prejudice, and my favorite modern adaptation is the one set in Utah with lots and lots and lots of little Austen-esque digs at Utah/Idaho church culture.

Because when I'm watching some movies, I tell myself, this would turn out a whole lot differently if they had cell phones. Romeo and Juliet. Burner phones. Nobody dies.

Tonight I finished season 1 of Grantchester. It's set near Cambridge in the early 50s. So I'm loving the costumes. The final episode has two exceedingly brave and strong women in it. One refuses to continue a romance in which the man she loves has been unfaithful, telling him that while her husband was unfaithful, she is not going to put up with that now, or in the future. And the second very publicly outs her husband as an abuser, without saying a word. You'll remember that my husbands were neither adulterers nor abusers. And in real life, the second woman's actions would likely get her killed offscreen and make her the subject of episode one of season 2.

If we are friends on FB, you'll know that 2020 was not only the year of the pandemic, it was the year that I became outspokenly political. I was cautiously optimistic when Biden was declared the apparent winner in November. I felt better still when the Electoral College confirmed the popular vote. I was appalled and heartbroken, but not surprised, at the insurrection fomented by the former President on January 6. And when the Inauguration came and went without further chaos, and with dignity and grace on the part of our new President and Vice President and their spouses, I finally began sleeping better and longer.

It's late. I really should be in bed. There are clean sheets piled on a corner of the bed, and the cotton blanket to retrieve from the dryer. (Oh, we have a new washer and dryer, and they are nothing short of mechanical miracles. I'm researching a new stovetop and oven for 2021. We shall see.)

General Conference, tangling, and knitting. In no particular order.

I don't think that I have enough yarn for another repeat of the pattern on my sister's birthday present, so tomorrow I will probably grab a 4" DP and bind that edge off.

I've joined two more Zentangle groups on Facebook, and I've commenced Inktober (which I hadn't heard of until earlier this week), combining the prompts from the official list with those on one of the Zentangle groups. I realized after this morning's session of Conference that instead of toggling back and forth between two saved posts, it made more sense to take tiles for the rest of the month, number them sequentially through the end of the month, then add the prompts for each day.

I was uber-focused on Conference during the first two sessions, taking several pages of color-coded notes, but this evening I just listened while noodling around with my pens, pencil, and tortillon. I've completed the third day's tile for Inktober and am about to go back to my room to maybe knock out the fourth one. I also shaded this week's tangle for the first group that I've been part of for about a month. I need to photograph both tiles, and the reference tiles that I drew, and upload the former tiles to their respective groups.

Last night I found an online tutorial that taught me how to draw a reasonably realistic human skull, which is not something I thought I'd ever want to do. As I once told the children's father, the reason it's called gross anatomy is because it's gross.

This is likely to be more rambly than usual. Sleeping in, spiritual over-stimulation, omitting my morning studies in favor of hitting Costco before Conference began, trying to wrangle my various series of tiles into some approximation of order. Not gathering sufficient snacks before each session of Conference to keep me alert and non-crabby for two hours. I feel as if I'd eaten all day long, and it was almost exclusively really good, nourishing food, and my brain has been blowing through it as if it were angel food cake.

Learning stuff, whether it's art or eternal verities, is wonderful. And exhausting. I'm very happy, intellectually and emotionally engaged, and right on the cusp of knackered.

Later, gators.  Be good, and remember Whose you are.

P.S. Elder Jeffrey R. Holland knocked it out of the ballpark this morning.

A much better day, thank you.

While I haven't been getting much sleep, I'm feeling better-than-OK, and today I had a steadily productive day at work, followed by minimal dinner and maximum drawing.

When I have a new Zentangle prompt, my first instinct is to cram as many shapes that I know into the confines of the string (outline) on the 3.5" square. I just basically run amok with my Micron pens until nothing else will fit. I've taken to drawing more than one variation on the week's theme. Tonight I finished over-stuffing the first tile, and I think I'm about ready to start shading the second one. Which looks far less like the love child of Pablo Picasso and Peter Max than the first one does. I like drawing in black and white. I like starting with a minimal suggestion for shapes to fill, then freehand drawing until I'm all drawn out, or I need to go to bed, or my hands and eyes are tired and want to do something else.

My 2-in-1 volume of Asimov's Guide to the Bible arrived yesterday. I've read the few pages of background that are related to Galatians, which is what we are studying this week. There is minimal guidance in Come, Follow Me. Apparently in Chapter 2, Paul tears into Peter over no longer eating with the gentile Christians. I haven't gotten there yet. I've spent much of the past couple of days mindlessly scrolling Facebook, reading a couple of articles here and there in The Economist (I'm behind again), and thinking about the children's father.

The obituary is done, I think, and the eulogy is coming together nicely. 1BDH will be reading it, because he can do so without breaking down up on the stand during the service.

I found myself arguing with Asimov's suggestions or conclusions regarding bits of Galatians. I think he will be useful in terms of what was going on in the rest of the world, and why the various authors of the various gospels were discussing a particular subject. I know enough about how the Brethren work together in the upper levels of the church to quibble with Asimov's ideas about schisms between the Jewish Christians and the Gentile Christians while the original apostles were still alive. The Savior Himself said, "If ye are not one, ye are not mine." The modern Council of the Twelve Apostles do not bicker. They state opinions, counsel together, hearken to the Spirit, and come to a consensus. If even one of them is not fully supportive of a proposed plan, they table it and revisit it later.

So I think Asimov is going to be a little more right than the proverbial stopped clock that is right twice a day. And from the little I've read so far, I think he is doing the best he can with the sources that he had, and occasionally talking through his hat.

I need to take my meds, put away the art supplies, and actually read Galatians 2 to see what my own sources say the fuss was all about. Night, y'all.

Mission accomplished.

Not mine. The children's father's. Ten years ago he experienced several severe bilateral strokes. They were probably not his last. They were definitely not his first. The TIA's began more than 35 years ago, before he began chiropractic school, before LittleBit was conceived. Back when I still had some hope that the marriage would end as it began, rooted firmly in eternal covenants between us and our Maker.

The marriage died long before I divorced him. It sounds clinical on paper: he stopped loving me when I stood up to him and brought the US Postal Service into it. He stopped listening to me. He stopped touching me. He fell in love with talk radio, if only to boost the testosterone level in our home and to tune out the needs of a wife and five children. My mother died. I suddenly had money that was mine. I bought my freedom, paid off the IRS and the dentist and the midwife and I don't remember who-all else, and I told him to go.

The children were angry that he had to move out on his birthday. I got it then, and I get it now. I was the bad guy then. Our ward did not understand it. I later learned that there was gossip that I was having an affair. (I was not.) Or that I divorced him to protect my inheritance. (Partially true, but not the only or even the primary reason.)

His personality, always quirky, darkened with each successive stroke. At the end he was passive and defeated, but verbally abusive to the two of our children who had his medical and financial powers of attorney, and to the staff at the assisted living center where he got moved when the nursing home in Fort Worth could bear him no longer. Our two eldest would no longer visit him without one or both husbands in attendance.

He had been in and out of the hospital several times in the past few months, most recently with cellulitis. He could not or would not care for himself. He refused to eat the diabetic-appropriate meals, preferring to do without. I have prayed recently, if he crossed my mind, that he would live to complete his mission, though we didn't understand why he was still here. I'm grateful that I was able to pray without bitterness. There have been occasional spikes of irritation over the past ten years, but for the most part I made my peace with him when we thought he was going to die a decade ago.

He only stopped asking what it would take for us to get back together when I went to visit him after Beloved's diagnosis and told him that I didn't know if I would be getting a proposal, but that if I did, I would be accepting it. Before that, he brought it up every Thanksgiving and Christmas, sometimes asking the kids to intervene on his behalf.

Sorry, y'all. So much good and bad cycling through my mind as I wrap my head around the fact that the man with whom I made five precious babies is gone. He passed peacefully in his sleep overnight. Today would have been Mom's 106th birthday. It's two days before what should have been our 42nd anniversary. It's going to be a complicated grief for all of us. Middlest and I have picked out the music for his memorial service. We had a conference call this afternoon to hammer out some details. He was a veteran, so there'll be a place for his ashes at the Dallas-Fort Worth National Cemetery.

Please pray for our kids and grandkids. I may be AWOL for awhile.

Yesterday was better. Also, yarn chicken.

I've completed 35 steps of the 42 for my sister's Hitchhiker. I have 35 grams of yarn left. I've decided to stop and weigh the yarn at the completion of each remaining step so that I don't run out of yarn midway through a step.

SemperFi was almost his usual delightful self yesterday. He was obviously making the effort.

The Col-O-Ring which I ordered earlier this week was waiting when I got home from work. I am drawing a small sample of each tangle that I've learned so far and putting them in alphabetical order. When I've worked my way through all of the official tangles, I'll regroup them by shape (round, square, triangular, weird, etc.) while keeping them alphabetical within the subgroup. That way, when I want a certain shape of tangle to fit into a particular space, I can flip through a handful of like shapes until I find the one I want, rather than having to sort through all 160+ of them. Last night I drew six of them.

Today I take Middlest and Fourthborn for their monthly doctor appointments. I knew that. It's on my calendar at work and on my phone, and I remembered it last night but entirely forgot it until a few minutes ago when they said something. I had finished this morning's scripture study and was thinking about what to pack for lunch and what to wear (it's football season, so I guess it's my "Go Pack" Green Bay Packers shirt over leggings) and was wondering if there'd be time to knit or draw more samples before leaving for work.

I have time to knit. I have time to draw samples. A good day just got significantly better.

A h#!! of a day in the neighborhood

I knew it was likely to be at least somewhat stressful, as I needed to work on and hopefully complete a trial notebook for SemperFi. So I ate a healthy breakfast before going to work and spent the morning swilling Cherry Coke and eating Keebler's Faux-Moas (the fudge stripe cookies). At lunch I went across the street and picked up a chicken teriyaki bowl and took it up to the rooftop patio in our building. Then I came back down to our break area and tangled until it was time to go back to my desk. (I knew that knitting was not going to cut it. I'll do some of that when I log off here.)

During the day, SemperFi didn't listen to me, OR the office manager in training, when we told him how to print certain documents. He went and got the IT person, who told him exactly what we had said, and he did it. The office manager in training (OMIT?) was quietly and visibly-to-me irate, as was I. She took a little walk to cool down. I took another swig of Cherry Coke, and when he returned to his desk, I said quietly, "I'm feeling a little frustrated. It took three women telling you how to do something before you listened." He's not normally like that, and he responded equally quietly, "Thank you for the feedback."

Later I told him, "You get really crabby when  you're in trial prep."

"Yes, I do."

Naturally, because I wrangled 400 documents into submission ~ it took 22 minutes to upload the folder to his outbox ~ the judge granted opposing counsel's continuance. I am magic. I should run for office. (My friend Tan says on the Murphy's Law ticket.)

The OMIT was still not quite herself by the end of the day. I was still simmering but no longer irate. At some point SemperFi remarked, "So you feel my pain." To which I retorted, "No, I feel you are a pain." Still later, I asked if he would be in the office tomorrow or working remotely. I hope I was able to keep the disappointment out of my voice when I said, "OK, see you tomorrow."

I flew my snark flag high and free today. I was definitely not nice. I was probably also not kind, although tipping tables over is certainly within the realm of possibility when you're trying to emulate the Savior.

I told SemperFi to go home and drink some wine tonight. Me, I will probably add a muscle relaxer to the usual evening meds.

The day did turn around for me, however. I took myself to Rockfish to eat some crab cakes homeopathically. They were stellar, as was the service. On the way out, I nearly collided with a younger couple at the door, so I held it open for them and wished them a good evening. As did they, to me. I said, "I'm going to go home and draw." The husband stopped, spun around, and asked, "Are you an artist?" "I'm learning to be. Right now I'm learning Zentangle." His face lit up. "I'm an art teacher in one of the schools. I teach my students to Zentangle!" So I had him take a picture of a page from the Facebook group I'm in, and I PM'd a moderator to be on the lookout for a membership request. Very nice man, and his wife is equally charming.

I'm going to put myself in timeout now. Later, gators!

Drawing and more drawing.

Unfortunately, the Blogger app on my phone will not let me post pictures. Last night I came up with my very own ornate design. This evening I followed one of the weekly prompts in a tangling group I've joined.

Funeral tomorrow for my wonderful dentist. I've got appointments scheduled for October with a local office that was highly recommended by three RS sisters in my ward.

Time to put my art supplies away, take my meds, and go to bed. Night, y'all.

Four hours. Thirty-seven minutes. L

That's how much sleep I got last night. I finally had to take a diclofenac around midnight. I'll do do again tonight.

Had a good checkup this morning. I'm down 15 pounds from three months ago. Haven't gotten the lab results back yet, but I'm hopeful that my A1c and cholesterol numbers will be proportionately improved as well.

Will be taking half doses of the Lexapro to see if my perceived reduction in stress continues, with the idea of weaning off it entirely.

My appetite was erratic today. When I finished the lab work I went to IHOP and had a reasonably portioned, reasonably healthy meal. All the way to work, Stomach was asking "When eat? When eat?"

So I stopped at Whole Foods and put together a salad for lunch. And then ate two sausage kolaches (bakery pigs in blankets) to celebrate my weight loss. Followed about an hour later by the salad and two small mozzarella sticks swaddled in prosciutto. I had to keep taking swigs of Cherry Coke to keep my eyes open. And I triple-checked my work until time to go home.

Dinner was two leftover slices of cauliflower pizza and a scoop of ice cream. I'm knackered. But Brain thinks we want to draw a little before turning off the lights.

I think I'll spend much of this weekend snoozing. We shall see.

Pain in the foot.

Last year (I think it was last year) I was diagnosed with plantar fasciitis in my left foot. I acquired a podiatrist, over the counter orthotics, and had to give up my beloved Dansko clogs, which I had worn in various iterations for roughly twenty years.

I loathe spending money on shoes. For the past several years I've gone to Academy and bought whatever was on sale. I bought two pairs last time. A conservative black pair. A pair that shifts from red to orange and tones wonderfully with my favorite combination of Gudrun pieces. A couple of evenings ago, I stepped out of bed and felt a dull ache when my left heel touched the floor. I felt it again when I got out of bed this morning, and intermittently when I walked.

Tomorrow night I'm going back to Academy, hoping for a good sale on a better pair of shoes. Ones where the insoles come out and the orthotics can go in. Meanwhile I'm treading gingerly with bare feet inside my penultimate purchase, which has my orthotics. I will probably wear those to work tomorrow. They're a little worn looking, and it's better than limping or muttering childbirth words.

In more exciting news, I have my quarterly diabetes checkup tomorrow morning, and I think my wonderful doctor is going to be pleased.

I really had fun drawing last night. Stayed up too late and am likely to do it again tonight. Starting right about now.