Bless My Heart

You know how folks say we ourselves are our own worst enemies? 

Well, I believe it, after the episodes I've pulled lately.

Firstly, the other night I went to bed and could not get comfortable. It seemed the longer I lay there, the  more pain I was in - my back, my legs and feet. Plus, I just didn't feel right. 

Finally, around 2:00 a.m. a teeny tiny light bulb came on above my head and I realized I had not taken my night medications. Nothing for the neuropathy and especially my blood pressure medications. I got up, took my blood pressure (which was up). My drinking glass was dry, a good hint. So I took my night medications, woke Daughter up (there's no point in waking Husband up, he wouldn't remember it) and said, "If I die it's because I've overdosed on blood pressure medications, but don't worry, I didn't." 

She raised her head off the pillow and squinted at me. I don't know if this is because she didn't have on her glasses, or because I'd woke her up, or because she thought I'd finally  lost my marbles.

Perhaps all three.

Then, a few days later, I worked in the studio till dark. I knew I'd sat too long as I could no longer feel much from the knees down, but I'd been working on something I thought pretty important. I called the house for Husband to come with a flashlight and walk me back to the house.

Now, I have a heat pad that sits on the floor to rest my feet on, and that helps. I'd had my shoes off with my feet resting on the pad. When Husband arrived, I felt around with my (numb) feet and slipped my shoes on. I shuffled to the door and commenced the walk back. Every step was agony. Each step was worse than the one before. It was awful.

When I got back to the house, I looked down and saw my shoes were on the wrong feet.

Well, that explained a lot.

Till next time!

You Just Can't Trust 'em

I've come to the conclusion that the most untrustworthy people on the planet are not politicians. 

They come in second. (Or third, depending on  where you stand regarding attorneys.)

First prize goes to meteorologists.

They talk, I think, to get themselves all excited.

"It's gonna snow! A foot! Well, maybe an inch! There may (or may not be) ice, too.  Be sure and put chains on the tires of the car before you go out and fist fight your neighbor for bread and milk. And possibly cat food."

Then they "go to" someone out in the wilderness of north Georgia who is dressed like an Eskimo, and is showing a snowflake that someone has preserved in their freezer since the blizzard of 1993. They look into the camera with a dramatic expression and solemnly say, "This is what you may (or may not) experience by tomorrow morning." Then he/she squints up  into the night sky and reports they might feel some frozen precipitation hitting their face as they speak.

The next morning-which is bright and sunny, I might add-they are all smiles and talk about how the snow missed us, but just barely.

Once again they go to their partner in the wilderness of north Georgia, who is now in flip flops and a Hawaiian flare-dee shirt and sipping an icy co-coler. All toothy grin, he/she talks about what a close call it was, all said between slurps of their cold drink.

I'm sick of it. I'm thinking about suing for pain and suffering. I don't want a blizzard; I ain't crazy.  But a few inches of beautiful white fluffy snow would be nice.

It is January, after all.

Just stop talking about it. If it comes, it comes. and if it doesn't I'll keep on my flip flops and Hawaiian flare-dee shirt and call it a day.

At least I don't need bread and milk now.