You know what? I don't have any Heavy Thoughts this morning. Nor do I have anything amusing. I am basically shit-for-blogger!
I just got an e-mail from the Beloved and Fabulous Ms. Bastard-Beloved and she asked me what was on the agenda for life in Lloyd today. I replied, "I've already taken the trash and recycle so my work here is DONE! Haha!"
This is the level of communication which Ms. Bastard-Beloved and I share. It's a precious thing.
Anyway, I got all the laundry done yesterday AND went to town and saw the NP. She's a funny little thing. I always cry when I talk to her and she always reaches into a drawer and finds one of those take-away packs of Kleenex and she struggles with it and hands me one with about as much compassion as she would in handing me a paper towel after a pap smear and pelvic.
I cried because I was telling her about Jessie Moon graduating and leaving town. She said, "Well, that's a big transition for you, too."
Uh. Yes. Yes, it is.
She doesn't know that this patient of hers is the most self-examined woman in the world. Not her fault.
She recommended some blood tests for hormone levels and some saliva tests for adrenal levels and some supplements. So okay.
I drove to the New Thief Market, as we so lovingly call our Co-op. I got the supplements and a bag of apples.
Then I drove to Publix where I picked up my Lexapro and some groceries including a lovely, tiny piece of salmon that I cooked for myself last night with an entire bag of spinach and green onions and red peppers. Mr. Moon called while I was cooking the onions and peppers. "What should I eat for dinner?" he asked me.
I promised to make him a little baked organic chicken and some broccoli tonight. What more could I do?
I love that he trusts me with his nutritional needs. We decided one night recently that the reason Pearl is still alive (and I just checked- she is) is that she's been eating my food for all these years. Forget those high-dollar dog foods. Give them the cheap shit and supplement with good human food. And plenty of deer liver during hunting season.
Well. Works for us.
Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah, Publix. I was depressed yesterday. And anxious. Depressed and anxious. Ooh boy. Bad combo. Like a crack addict paired up with a meth addict. Nothing can go wrong with THAT plan, right?
So when I went to bed last night I was pret-ty, pret-ty proud that I'd done what I'd done during the day. Taken a walk, gotten the laundry done, gone to town, taken care of medical situations, made a long overdue appointment to get my teeth cleaned, made an appointment for Mr. Moon to have his dental problem checked out, AND cooked myself a lovely piece of salmon. With all those vegetables.
So. Trash and recycle and now Owen's coming and tonight the chicken and broccoli and here we are. I'm trying like hell to make myself keep the chickens in the coop because I know that if I did that for a couple of days they'd start laying in their nest again but honestly, I'm so nuts that I'd rather see chickens scratching around the yard being all happy and shit than I care about eggs. My pioneer foremothers are laughing their asses off.
So that's me today. I am certainly not Super Woman. I am Barely Adequate Woman and think I deserve some sort of sparkly tiara for taking the trash. And planning to cook broccoli.
Don't forget that.
Be productive, y'all! Use me as the bar to judge yourselves. It'll make you feel so much better.