Comfort

In general, there seems to be plenty to be miserable about right now. I am thinking about the stock market and how much money we (and everyone else) have lost and that we can, really, do nothing about it. If we were of the mind to hide money under a mattress, we should have pulled it out a long time ago. Like a wayward gal that "almost didn't get pregnant" because her swain "almost pulled it out in time", so goes some of our money (but in or case "down", rather than "up", shit creek).

I guess I brought up the pregnancy analogy because I had to go to "that" doctor today for something. No, I'M not pregnant (but, my oh my, wouldn't THAT cause some excitement!); no, my OB GYN typically serves as my GP since I'm hardly ever sick. And, obviously, in an OB GYN's office, you're gonna see pregnant females (although none near as entertaining as "Juno"!)And, oh, guess what; talk about having something ELSE to feel crappy about; they weighed me (I hate that) and I weigh more than I've ever weighed in my life. Now, I don't think I look fat (although I feel fat, which is not the same thing), but, it was a bit of a shock. It's only 5 pounds, but, well, shit!

Let me step back (and OFF that freaking scale!)

Yesterday, while driving back from Greensboro (and listening to NPR and all the DIRE news, which should have given me a clue what would happen with our markets (again) today since it was happening all over the world yesterday), I realized I felt sort of sick, and, in a bit of a painful way.

After I finally got home, I did my best to self-treat; which means Aleve and my ever-ready stash of antibiotics. This didn't turn out to be the best idea because the antibiotics (which I learned later that I didn't even need) sort of made me feel ill to my stomach.

I tried to distract myself by reading. Unfortunately, that did not help much. On top of it, Mr. B has been working later of late because he's in the October "Busy Season". So, HE wasn't around to distract me/comfort me. Lucy, bless her heart, WANTED to comfort me, but, she just made it worse with her prancing all about, tags jingling, etc. But, thanks for trying, Goose.

Finally, he did come home. We had a late dinner and went to bed relatively early.

I spent a fairly miserable night; restless and somewhat in pain (not an awful pain but an irritating one). BTW, what turned out to be "wrong" with me was a small but painful abrasion in an inconvenient place. I'll leave it at that, but, I'm obviously gonna survive.

Anyway, I had a very long dream last night about Nigel. Or, I should say, "Nigel visited me last night for a very long time" because I like to think of my dreams of Nigel and Clyde as them coming to see me. What I really only recall from the dream (other than he was in it) was petting him a lot, holding him, and feeling comforted.

Which is not surprising, since, when he was alive, Nigel took on the role of comforter whenever I was sick, sad, etc. Not that Clyde couldn't, but, it was typically Nigel who would come find me wherever I was pouting/crying/moaning/sleeping and either climb up into my lap or get up onto the bed with me and cuddle close. In fact, I can recall times when I was married to my ex that, after a really bad day, or, if I was feeling rotten, he'd say, "What can I do to make you feel better?" to which I'd reply, "Bring me Nigel" (assuming he was not already Johnny On The Spot). This probably didn't make my ex feel great, but, well, I ended up with Nigel and divorcing him so that should tell you something.

Funny, a week or so ago, I said to Mr. B, "You know, Nigel has not come to see me for a long while", to which he replied, "Well, he must be busy right now". We had an interesting conversation about what, exactly, he might be doing up there in kitty heaven and came to the conclusion he was probably still trying to get Clyde acclimated.

So, I suppose he decided coming "down" and comforting mom was more important than whatever he was doing with Clyde.

Thanks, Nigel!

Now, if you could only magically make those 5 pounds disappear, I'd REALLY be grateful.

Mrs. B