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pameladeanWoke up in a haze of well-being to a sunny, bitter day. Toliman had crept under the covers and was purring madly.
I remembered suddenly that it was Wednesday, so I was having lunch with my mother and needed to be home by 12:30. This did all work out perfectly well, since it was only 10 a.m. I usually sleep later than that. Eric made me a cup of coffee, and then we went to Acadia and had more coffee and some breakfast. Eric pointed out the hummos sandwich, and that means there are three things there that I can eat, if I tell them to leave the cheese and mayonnaise off the veggieburger.
Eric had looked up the bus for me -- I am not at my best in the morning -- so we sat peacefully reading, German for him and STEALING THE ELF-KING'S ROSES for me, until it was time for me to cross the street and get my bus.
My mother is sometimes early to collect me, depending on the vagaries of traffic, but I had time to brush my teeth again and take off my ratty outer sweatpants and look at my email before she arrived. We checked out the soups available at the Linden Hills Coop, where we often eat, but they both had butter in them, which meant I should not eat them; and one had beans and the other squash, which meant she didn't like them anyway. We went next door to Zumbro's, where they had a vegan tomato-potato-basil soup on offer.
My mother told me the things she was doing to make Matt's leaving less painful. She really is glad to have all her space back; I am not sure she could have lived there with anybody more obtrusive. We gave each other cat news and book news and some people news. I no longer get a dead silence when I mention Eric. (I fall into that dead silence myself on unwelcome topics. Eeek.)
Back home again, I noticed that I was still feeling dragged out and tired. I figured I was underslept, but I finally lit on the notion of taking my blood pressure. It was much lower than it had been the week before. It was not so low that one gets to call the clinic and be told, "Cut your medication in half," but it certainly is lower. I had no idea that cooking was stressing me out so much; or rather, that I was stressing myself out so much about cooking.
Did laundry, dish stuff, book-glaring; watched "Buffy." Finished the Duane, finally, but I think I'll do a separate entry for that.
Pamela
I remembered suddenly that it was Wednesday, so I was having lunch with my mother and needed to be home by 12:30. This did all work out perfectly well, since it was only 10 a.m. I usually sleep later than that. Eric made me a cup of coffee, and then we went to Acadia and had more coffee and some breakfast. Eric pointed out the hummos sandwich, and that means there are three things there that I can eat, if I tell them to leave the cheese and mayonnaise off the veggieburger.
Eric had looked up the bus for me -- I am not at my best in the morning -- so we sat peacefully reading, German for him and STEALING THE ELF-KING'S ROSES for me, until it was time for me to cross the street and get my bus.
My mother is sometimes early to collect me, depending on the vagaries of traffic, but I had time to brush my teeth again and take off my ratty outer sweatpants and look at my email before she arrived. We checked out the soups available at the Linden Hills Coop, where we often eat, but they both had butter in them, which meant I should not eat them; and one had beans and the other squash, which meant she didn't like them anyway. We went next door to Zumbro's, where they had a vegan tomato-potato-basil soup on offer.
My mother told me the things she was doing to make Matt's leaving less painful. She really is glad to have all her space back; I am not sure she could have lived there with anybody more obtrusive. We gave each other cat news and book news and some people news. I no longer get a dead silence when I mention Eric. (I fall into that dead silence myself on unwelcome topics. Eeek.)
Back home again, I noticed that I was still feeling dragged out and tired. I figured I was underslept, but I finally lit on the notion of taking my blood pressure. It was much lower than it had been the week before. It was not so low that one gets to call the clinic and be told, "Cut your medication in half," but it certainly is lower. I had no idea that cooking was stressing me out so much; or rather, that I was stressing myself out so much about cooking.
Did laundry, dish stuff, book-glaring; watched "Buffy." Finished the Duane, finally, but I think I'll do a separate entry for that.
Pamela
