...
I was just telling bb2 about my duck, Stanley, who bit anyone who spoke grouchily or raised their voice to me. My parents were very polite to me while Stanley was around.
Anyway, I was only getting the bare minimum sleep on my trip and I'm still only getting five or six hours every night. So, now, after about a month of this, I think I may be suffering from sleep moronification syndrome... or something. A nap hasn't taken me in quite a while, but when I turned on Catherine and Mark McCandlish earlier today, bonk, I barely made it to my bed. Kept drifting in and out, somewhere between summer vacations nearly sixty years ago and Catherine's voice on the other side of the room, when ambulances arrived next door and the racket sat me bolt upright.
I never know for days if it was the last heart attack or not. Both of them. They take turns. I don't blame them for being so terrified it makes my radars crackle, but I do blame them for just about everything else, to include not doing something to pull up out of their terror... like go for walks or to the movies or eat healthier food. They keep buying more gaudy flowers and bird feeders and the tchotchkes are moving around the building and into my line of sight. Shit. They only get out to the grocery store and sit inside in front of their big screen TV when they are not asleep.
It's like my other neighbor who knows she can get rid of her diabetes with diet, but prefers having to go for surgery involving blood vessels in her leg to changing her diet. They are all waiting to die. They all prefer the terrified rabbit thing to real life, hoping they'll go in their sleep.
I can't fix them.
I'm going to fix me with a pill tonight.
The good news is I got up the courage to get on the scales to see the damages from my trip off into wonderful eating land. I lost two more pounds.
always and any time....
