|With Jamie, my younger son|
Note the macramé which made him say I'm still a hippie at heart
Subie interrupted my yoga (which wasn't going well) and we had a nice visit in the morning; when she left, I went back to the yoga mat, coughed so hard I gagged and gave up on yoga.
Good things did happen: the dog groomer came much earlier than I expected and was through by one o'clock; I wrote my thousand words for the day; just settled down for a nap when the plumber called and was one his way to replace the dripping kitchen faucet--the new one is high and rounded with a soap dispense and one of those nozzle attachments you can pull down--carefully. Jordan arrived to get Jacob from school and stayed for a visit. I did a load of laundry (still not folded) and ran and emptied the dishwasher. Subie came back bringing pasta for supper. Now that I look at it, it wasn't a bad day. I just didn't feel good. Maybe it was the chicken salad I ate last night in a restaurant? A friend once warned me that she never ordered chicken salad because somewhere, sometime, someone had to bone that chicken by hand.
Sophie is a new dog--about half the dog she was before. She looks so skinny and little. The groomer got all the mats without shaving her (my big request) and now you can see her pretty eyes. I'm relieved, because she was really shaggy. Spring better come because she now has her spring haircut.
Tomorrow is Jordan's actual birthday, and we're all set to celebrate at lunch. I would like to be through feeling about half myself. I'm rarely sick, and when I don't feel well I always look for something to blame it on. Compulsive about much of life, I can't even relax enough to accept that I don't feel well. I am grateful that the extreme tired feeling of wanting to crawl back in bed at every chance is gone. But my conscience always tell me if I'd just straighten up and fly right, I'd be okay. Please, Lord, I'd like to feel better tomorrow.