There is a black cat reposing on my chest. Occasionally she head butts me, a sure sign of affection. Or maybe just an attempt at getting my attention. Either way, her ministrations are comforting.
I was supposed to get a haircut today. It’s desperately needed, but there’s no way I can drive to the town my salon is located in. There are miles between bathrooms.
Our bedsheets need washing. I’m fairly sure I have the energy to strip the sheets from the bed, but will I be able to put them back on after they’ve been washed and dried?
The television is driving me crazy, but my mind won’t let me read a book. Silence is fine for awhile, but I dwell on the wrong stuff: I hate Donald Trump, God help me, but it’s true.
I keep reminding myself that I love my husband. We haven’t gotten to sleep in the same room for awhile due to his sciatica, then his upper respiratory infection, and my “whatever fresh hell this is today.” Have I mentioned he’s supposed to have a surgical procedure later this week? Fudge.
I want my mommy. God, I want my mommy. I dreamt of her last night. She had a fancy new car and a coffee mug with an inspirational verse written in blue script. We sat in the car and talked. I cried.