My lost day

 

Do you ever have a day that is simply lost? That was me today. For all the good I did the world—or myself—I should have stayed in bed. And in a way, that’s what I did. At the risk of sounding like a neurotic old lady, I’ll blame it on—wait for it!—foot pain. Yesterday afternoon, I started having intermittent, sharp pains in my left foot. To my dismay, they continued all night.

By three a.m., that dark hour when your imagination can run away with you, I had convinced myself that my hip revision/replacement/whatever had gone south, that was why my whole left leg ached, and I would have to be hospitalized to have it repaired—probable/possible surgery. I was a mess. To add to the atmosphere, a thunderstorm was raging outside, and Sophie was clinging to me, following me each time I went to the bathroom, which I did a lot because walking made my foot and leg feel better.

As things often do, they looked better in the morning—but not a whole lot, because I was exhausted. The pain in my foot was not gone but was less. Jordan suggested I go back to bed, which I thought was a brilliant idea. So I did. And that set the pattern for the day—I had no ambition for any of the several things on my desk, so I got up, went back to bed, got up, took another nap, etc. In between those naps, I managed to make Reuben dip for Jordan’s late birthday dinner tonight (her request), go get blood work done (something I dread—and no, it’s not the needle; it’s the whole depressing place, even though the people are polite and friendly—not sure why I’ve developed a “thing” about it).

Tonight, our regular Tuesday night happy hour ladies came to celebrate Jordan—they brought flowers and cheese and crackers and wonderful mini-grasshopper pies for our dessert. And a gift certificate for Jordan to Saint Emilion, which I had strongly suggested was too extravagant (is this where I can use the Henny Youngman line about getting no respect?). They ignored my request.

And poor Jordan cooked her own b’day dinner, though I helped some. At one point, she moaned, “I’m in the weeds, and it’s my birthday dinner!” We had oven-roasted salmon with anchovy/garlic butter—delicious—and a big salad.

It ended being a festive day, but I had the nagging feeling of not having accomplished much. Do not ask me why in retirement I feel I must “accomplish” something every day. I think that compulsion was coded into me at birth. I have never been able to putter well. One of my good friends used to say she could happily watch paint dry—I would go stark, raving mad.

So Sophie and I are settled down for the night. My foot is no longer zinging me, but I am still sleepy. It’s early to bed (fits in with my day). I plan to get up tomorrow ready to conquer the world—or at least finish organizing my tax stuff. Usually, when I go to bed with that resolve, it works, so we’ll see.

Stay safe, all. North Texas is supposed to see more storms in the afternoon, some possibly heavy.