I spent the weekend trying a revolutionary new good-health program called 'getting enough rest'. It started on Friday when the husbeast got home from work early. So I took a nap. And went to bed early. And slept in. And did it all over again. When I wasn't asleep, I deliberately did things I knew relaxed me.
Knitting (decoding the German is going fairly well, thank you):
Spinning (more of the Peacock Tweed; not sure I'll have enough for my original plan, but I'll come up with something):
And a lot of reading, mostly of novels I know will make me laugh. Heavy on the Janet Evanovich (her latest Stephanie Plum made me laugh until I cried last night) and the J D Robb. In the J D Robb, there's a murder committed by a woman named Dolores. In my mind's eye I'm supposed to be seeing scary-yet-beautiful woman. Instead I'm getting a sheep in rhinestone sunglasses. Franklin has a lot to answer for, I tell ya.
Finished off the restorative weekend with an afternoon out with Terby. We were planning to knit, but wound up sitting and talking for a couple hours. Worked for me.
And now, this morning (I feel wide awake before noon for the first time in I'm not admitting how long), I began the day with a two inch cockroach toes-up on the kitchen floor. Blue's Clues is running that damn episode about emotions so every five seconds the Goober runs up making some hideous face, going "I happy/sad/shy/angwy/funny" which is only funny the first couple hundred times. Sekhmet is plastered against me, overjoyed I am not knitting or spinning and therefore allowed on my lap.
Back on the carousel.