Monthly Archives: August 2014
Some days crawl by
From the time I got up yesterday until I was ready to go to bed, the entire time awake went by at a slow crawl. Have you ever had a day like that?
I swear, it was like watching the clock that last class in school.
T i c k. T i c k. T i c k.
And yet, I GOT NOTHING DONE!
It crept on by and left me standing in the dust.
Another day shot to hell.
You all have a good one.
Let the tree rat wars begin again.
Effing tree rats have ruined three very large and not yet ripe Black Krim tomatoes. Let the wars begin.
I bought chicken wire to enclose my two Black Krim tomato plants, leaving the third heirloom tomato plant to fend for itself. It is my hope that they, finding that plant easier to get at will leave my delicious Black Krims alone.
Little smirking tree climbing fancy tailed rats better look out, I gave The Curmudgeon permission to dig out his BB gun too.
Home made or boxed?
Recently I got into a discussion with some friends and thought I’d bring the discussion here.
My preference in the comfort food category of macaroni and cheese is home made, completely from scratch, using the sharpest cheddar cheese one can find.
Two of my friends said they prefer Kraft macaroni and cheese.
How about you? What do you like?
Boxed
or scrumptious?
Loving the cool nights
It is now down to a comfortable 63 degrees tonight and the AC is off for a change. The beauty of saving a little money is unparalleled.
I am really loving not having the constant drone of three AC units going.
It’s nice to have the windows and doors open once again. To have fresh air, I can even tolerate the noisy neighbors blasting their stereo if I have to, to go without running the AC.
Cue crickets. You all have a good one.
Dream a little dream
Okay, I admit it. I often roll over and go back to sleep so I don’t have to face another day quite so soon. I am tired of arguments and feeling like all I am here for is to wait on The Curmudgeon. Unfortunately, yesterday my dreams went to us arguing rather than being something pleasant. I can’t escape even in dreamland.
I know I’d be more willing to do it if he actually made some sort of effort to get his muscles in even mildly better shape.
Physical therapy? He won’t go, the place is too far from home. Using the home gym I have set up? Nope, why would he bother?
He’d rather turn into this man who looks and acts as if he were 90 years-old than make any effort to work on muscle memory or strength. At least he will use his cart.
Of course, come to find out, Mr. Cranky Pants hasn’t been taking his antidepressants for at least a week. No wonder he’s been so impossible to live with. You bet I gave him the devil for not taking them when I found out and he’s started them again.
I hate MS. I hate that it has taken the kind, loving, and considerate man I married away.
Where was I?…zzzzzzzzzzzzz
I can’t seem to write out a single complete or coherent thought these days much less a chapter in any of my books. All I feel like doing is sleep or eat.
I try to read. My eyelids get heavy. I jolt awake when my Kindle slaps my leg.
I think I am awake and wonder who is snoring only to find it is me and the dog next to me.
Doggonedmysteries 