But First

an explanation for the brevity of yesterday's post.

I was doing fine yesterday until about 9:30 AM when I experienced the phenomenon we refer to as hitting the wall. I just ran out of energy. Started feeling blah, which quickly escalated into feeling horrible. I walked around the rest of the day moaning and groaning about how tired I was and how I just wanted to go home and get into my recliner...

When the workday finally ended and I made it home, I was suddenly beset by chills. I took my temperature, and I discovered I was running a fever of 99.9--pretty high for an adult. I took some TheraFlu and began feeling much better. So much better in fact that I was floating about 2 feet below the ceiling. At that point, I decided it was best if I just went to bed.

I woke up this morning feeling much better, though with a slight sore throat. Nothing gets me down for long, though about 4 years ago I was knocked flat on my back by a nasty virus that was going around. I felt so bad that I called in sick to work--an unusual thing for me to do just for being sick. All I wanted to do was sleep.

Cody, who was 9 at the time, was very concerned and kept checking on me. He isn't used to seeing his mama staying in bed. Unfortunately, with is constant checking, I wasn't able to get much sleep. At one point, he brought me a package of Pop-Tarts for my breakfast. I thanked him very sweetly, but told him I didn't really want Pop-Tarts.

"What do you want for breakfast?"

"Fried eggs, bacon, toast, and a big glass of milk," I told him. I didn't really want to eat that, but I figured he'd just say that he couldn't cook it and would go away and let me sleep--which is what I really wanted. He left the room and I heard him rummaging around in the kitchen. He got the eggs, bacon and bread out of the refrigerator, took them to B's house and asked her to cook them for me.

After all that, what choice did I have? I had to eat them. What can I say?

I washed and dried the snowman dishcloth that I knitted the other day, and I decided it needs to be a personal use cloth. I must have omitted some rows or messed up somehow, because mine doesn't look all that much like a snowman. It looks more like a demon possessed hoot owl. I think it really must be possessed because the night after I knitted it, I dreamed about it all night. Dreaming about knitting is freaky enough, but dreaming about a dishcloth? It's enough to make you go HMMMM...


And finally, a gift from my friend Patti:

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