. . . or lack thereof . . .
I’d like to take this opportunity to whine just a little bit, ’cause I do it so well. (My Cowboy says he’s gonna start callin’ me Shab Lee because of it!)
I’ve been sick . . . for nearly 3 weeks . . . have some sort of crud that I can’t seem to shake. I start to think I’m better, so I go out and try to live life as usual, which then gives me a setback, and I start all over again.
I really hope I can shake it completely by the time I go to Houston, but that’s still 2 weeks away, so really — How long can this last?
When I do get a burst of energy, however short-lived, I have been working on stuff, but I still feel like I’m getting behinder every day. There just aren’t enough hours in a day or days in a week sometimes. Bet you never feel like that, do you?
Having an assistant would be nice . . . an assistant that will work while I take naps. Doesn’t that sound lovely? Yeah . . . an assistant . . . but it ain’t gonna happen . . . so I might as well stop whining, huh?
Besides, as usual, the good outweighs the bad around here, so I really don’t have anything to be complaining about. After all, My Cowboy is the one with his hand in a cast, not me. Who should be whining?
I was supposed to announce the winner of the block kit yesterday, but instead opted to sleep most of the day (as if it would help me recover), so here I am now, again a day late, to announce who the lucky winner of the “Mare-y Christmas” block kit is. And it is:
Congratulations, Betsy! I’ll pop it in the mail to you right away. Or, well, the more likely scenario is that I’ll send it to town with My Cowboy the next time he goes, so I can keep on napping. That’s a bit more realistic, isn’t it?
And with that announcement done and out of the way, I’m now going to go try to figure out:
1 ) Why there’s a bag of walnuts and 2 bricks of cream cheese in my studio, when the kitchen is clear on the other side of the shack, and I rarely cook anyway . . .
2 ) Where I put my glasses . . . and
3 ) Why my cell phone won’t charge if I don’t plug the charger into a wall outlet.
Yawn . . . (cough, cough) . . .