Melted Down

The past forty or so hours have felt like years. The plans for Monday night's movie with Red, No-Amy, and Melly got sidelined by me getting a touch of Herr Becher's illness; by two Monday afternoon I was exhausted and nearly a blubbering mess. A hot shower and crawling into yoga pants with my knitting cured some of it, as has going to bed much earlier than usual this past week. I guess I'm not such a comeback kid as I thought I was... geez, is this what getting old is? Piss. Just piss. And an f-bomb in there, too. I'm OLD, so I can swear. For fucksake, Norma.

Tomorrow the man and I sign the loan papers for my midlife-crisis-mobile. I'm hoping he'll go with me to pick it up Saturday, and we can ditch Lurch, the Jeep the same day. The best laid plans. So far plans have been kicking my arse all over the place.

In other news:
*The throat seems to have halted it's healing process. It got bearable, and then stopped getting better. Seems like the earache would go away at some point, too, but this transference of pain is considered 'normal' and is 'to be expected'. So you'd think maybe they'd expect to throw more meds my way. I've taken to hoarding my percocets and calling them "Precious"... yeah, in the creepy, hissy voice.
*I found a terrific source for fabulous knitting patterns, and they do trunk shows. Now, you may be thinking "why, I thought all pattern companies do trunk shows", but that's the weird part. This resource (for lack of a better word... could I call them magic, sweater-providing faeries?) does it without all the rigmarole. No "buy thirty bags of ass-ugly yarn and put down a $1,500.oo deposit to get the goods six months out of season" crap. Just an honest, achingly simple "buy six patterns and keep the model for three weeks" program. I almost wept for joy. More about them in the October newsletter.
*Yeah, about that. Oct. newsletter to publish this week. I might be slow. Or old. See first paragraph, above.

So, all of a sudden I am a curmudgeon. I was already a larval-stage misanthrope, styled after one of the highest order (Florence King is a goddess). But tonight, I was treated to an evening of Melly, and she cooked dinner and folded laundry and made my kids vacuum and put their things away. Relaxation happened. My brow unwrinkled, the frown and stabbing eye pains abated. I ate her most delicious meatloaf and Pioneer Woman's crashed potatoes (just Greek seasoning with the olive oil... excellent stuff, that), and order was restored to Becher Haus. Thank you, friend. You have put the sun back in the sky for me, and made me notice the fabulous sunset we had this evening. I didn't wind up a melted down puddle after all. C