Time Out

 

Sophie was mad at both Christian and me over
the small matter of flea medication. So she
was very glad to see her best friend, Jean.

Do you ever just take a day off? No, I don’t mean a day off from your job. I mean a day off from your life. Yesterday morning, I decided to cancel the world for the day. I didn’t feel sick, but I felt awful—exhausted, no ambition, not hungry, didn’t’ know what I wanted, but sleep sounded good. So about eleven-thirty I crawled back in bed and slept for an hour and a half. When I woke, I ate a piece of toast, cancelled the German potato salad dinner I had promised to cook for Christian and the friend who was coming for happy hour. I went back to bed and slept the afternoon away. Dinner was two scrambled eggs—and even that sat uneasily on my stomach—and I went to sleep early for me, about ten. Slept ten hours, if you don’t count getting up twice with Sophie and a couple of times for the bathroom. This morning, I had my groove back—hungry, ready to work, looking forward to cooking dinner tonight.

What happened to me? I think that old word, stress, covers it. I had about decided that the book I’m working on, which is projected to come in at 75,000 words would probably be 20,000 at best and that’s a stretch. The back of my legs hurt because I’d leather-burned them and taken a top layer of skin off during the extreme heat—so much for shorts when you have a leather seat on your walker and your desk chair. And, most of all, the world around me made me tired.

Do you read Heather Cox Richardson’s almost-daily column, “Letter from an American?” If you don’t read it, I highly recommend it. When I looked at last night’s column this morning, her words jumped at me: she wrote that it’s been a difficult week and called it “freaking exhausting.” And then she signed off. That was it for me. “Freaking exhausting.” Yesterday, was the first I read about the probable decision of the rogue SCOTUS in the fall which will hand control of elections to the states. I read a complicated article that projected that such a decision effectively threw out the popular vote, handed the choice of electors over to state legislatures, and rigged the election for the Republicans. Today I read a fantastical projection on that scenario that forecast riots in the street with rogue militia groups shooting protesting citizens, thousands of our citizens dead, and the president (projected to be DeSantis if the law goes into effect) declaring an emergency and ending all elections. Fantasy? Hopefully so but remember (most of you are probably not old enough) how fantastical George Orwell’s 1984 seemed when it was published in 1949. And much of it has now come true.

I am truly scared beyond belief. Someone has to do something about this out-of-control court which breaks precedence with every decision. Their decisions go against popular opinion, but I don’t know that it’s written anywhere that they must listen to the people. But it is established that precedent dictates the law of our land. And they are flouting it.

Beyond that, if I can get beyond it, today was a good day. I worked on the book but without the sense of urgency I’d felt all week. I’ll take it bit by bit—and some days those bits come hard—and see what happens. Only when I’ve exhausted all the notes I have and the new research I can do, will I begin to worry about the length. Maybe I can add a whole lot of pictures.

Tonight Jean came for supper, and Christian joined us for happy hour. Wide-ranging conversation about many topics including Christian’s experiences as a child model and TV actor, politics, and I don’t know what all. He elected to go to the movies with a friend and so didn’t stay for supper. If he had, I’d have fixed the potato salad I didn’t fix last night, but Jean and I had green shakshuka—poached eggs on a base of spinach flavored with onions and garlic and topped with queso fresco, avocado, and cilantro. Served with squeezable limes. So good, even if we did get the eggs a little harder than either of us wanted. Traditional shakshuka poaches eggs on a seasoned tomato base, but the green is a lovely alternative. Jean chided me when she looked at the recipe because I left out the jalapeno. I always do.

And here’s my nostalgic look back at Jacob’s young years. I am quite sure he was heartily singing, “Who Let the Dogs Out?” because we sang that over and over until I thought I would scream. The rest of the family thought it was hysterical, but I was weary. Today it’s a memory I treasure.

A day out of sorts

 

This morning was gray and dull, the kind of morning that makes you feel gray and dull, so I attributed my out-of-sorts feeling to the weather. When the sun would briefly come out, I’d think, “Okay, now I can talk myself into a better mood.” But the truth is, I was just off. After toast for breakfast and cottage cheese with vegetables in it for lunch, I decided bed was the best place for me.

And—a huge step, so unlike me—I called Jean and told her not to come for supper. I was going to make the ravioli with brown butter and sage that I’ve been talking about, but I decided I didn’t want to do experimental cooking when I wasn’t enthusiastic about eating.

Taking a day out reminds me of my mother. When I was young, she had severe migraines, and she would spend a day in bed. But she was always okay the next day. So I early learned when someone asked about her to say, “Oh, she’ll be all right tomorrow.” That’s sort of how I feel—I’ll be all right tomorrow.

After a two-hour nap, I felt better but decided I was going to take the rest of the day off. I would go back to bed whenever I wanted, look at my computer occasionally, and read. Mostly what I accomplished was the back-to-bed part, though Sophie had a fit once when I did that. Kept throwing herself at the bed and barking so hard, she made herself sick and spit up right by the bed where I could step on it when I got up. Thank you, Sophie. I fed a very subdued dog and crawled back in bed.

Twice now she’s gone out and stayed, which worries me because it’s so cold. Supposed to go to 22 tonight and feel like 10 in the morning because of winds. I think that’s part of my malaise—I absolutely hate to be cold. When I got up a few minutes ago, she antsed around like she wanted to go to, and I fixed her with a stern, “Absolutely not.” She is sleeping by my desk now, and I hope to sneak back to bed without disturbing her.

I did write my thousand words for the day, though I’m nervous about re-reading them. They may be pure junk—or they may need bolstering. And I fixed myself scrambled eggs for supper. And now, oh luxury, I’m sitting with my feet in the foot massager I got for Christmas.

Tomorrow is another day, and I’ll be fine. You all take care, stay safe and warm. It’s going to be nasty for a few days.