I am bed blogging...that is to say I am sleepless and blogging from bed with the three Viking cats, reflecting on a comment that a friend made regarding my renewed joy for/of life since the de-booting. And I guess I had been down for the past eight weeks, first from the pain then from being cast, so to speak, an invalid. Consider that word...in-valid., not valid. That's how I felt. And while friends were supportive and I was able, after a while, to joke about clunking around in a boot, I was depressed. And weary of having to HAVE so many taking care of me. That was the hardest part. Some of the depression was due to the need to find a new therapist, which did resolve itself nicely with the finding of Hyphen 2.0 but the devolution of The Bird, the dread of going to therapy with her and the lack of empathy from her office as I was desperately seeking solace and the leg issue conflating, as it were, made for a miserable ending of my first summer in Sans Souci. Now, de-booted, I find I have loads to do in the yard to get ready for winter. And Friday I have forty tulip bulbs coming, a housewarming gift from my aunt in California, that will require planting this weekend, as it is supposed to be a delightful weekend and a good time to work in the yard. I also have twenty daffodils bulbs to plant. JB has offered to help plant and I think Sunday would be the best day. Friday we have the symphony and Saturday we have football and Bill Maher, the latter at the Wharton. Yes, Sunday while the cats pillage we shall plant. And I promise, Sophie, not to overdo it as regards the leg.
October promises to be a busy month socially. Shows at the Wharton, a Jammin' Jews rehearsal and of course Halloween with the zombie flamingos, legless in flower pots (not the mums however). I am actually looking forward to Halloween and have sufficient candy for a number of tykes. Pumpkins, along with the killer mums, populate the front yard. I tick off things I must do: take in the hoses, the solar powered bird baths, the setting up of bird and squirrel feeding stations, et cetera. Not to mention the planting of bulbs of the flowering type. Yes, this will be a busy weekend. Sophie is taking me to Kroger's as I actually can shop for myself this week and actually start cooking real meals, not the heat and serve I was doing or the constant ordering in of food stuff. And I have loads of produce on my shopping list. I have two dinners for friends planned this month. As I enumerate the things I have to do I realize that one, I am happy, and two, I am a tad overwhelmed. All due to the de-booting.
Leif just attacked Lars as he slept...awkward sentence. The Viking Leif attacked the sleeping Lars as Sven watched with trepidation. Would he be next? Not so. They are sacked out and Lars is camped on the floor a victim of full frontal attack by the smallest cat in the house, the ten pound Leif, aka Gonif, attacked the twenty five pound Lars, formerly Yankel, while Sven alright Simcha, watched with bemused delight, I don't know at what point in my convalescing they turned into Vikings I just know they did. They were Western European for a while, starting with a football Saturday renaming ritual by Eduardo. Alright, the truth is I was bored and booted and feeling sorry for myself. So why not have Vikings for cats. Sophie's cat, Morty, suggested the pillaging option, offering a broad sword for their first pillage.
So it has been an hour and I am not closer to being tired, marveling at the auto-fill suggestions. Someday I will just let the gibberish stand as is. Nonsense on the order of Lewis Carroll. Might as well get up. Sleep did fail me now. Might as well be productive and read. Damn Viking cats.
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