These little fuckers are making my day worthwhile.
Spent the last few hours reading on the daybed, with Lonestar nestled on my lap and Catrick snoozing at the end of the bed. I'm always content when I have my animals with me.
Last night's sleep was actual torture. Breathing was impossible, swallowing was intensely painful, I had a delightful combination of period cramps, heartburn, and every symptom of the common fucking cold ramped up to 11. But I survived. And made it in to work today. Without a voice. Life goes on.
Made "ulcer juice" for breakfast. Tomato, cabbage, and celery. Disgusting, but it got me through my shift. I alternated ice water and burning hot coffee to "soothe" my throat, and my friend Darcy brought me soup, tea, eccinacia, oil of oregano, and an orange for afternoon snack. I also made myself popcorn and rice, because the heartburn was trying to kill me. Actually kill.
Ended up having a wonderful afternoon by myself, tidied up, watched some Netflix and read, then the hubs came home and I made the mistake of asking him to wait a little before getting high. He declined, smoked two bowls and went to the attic to sleep. I had intended to spend some time with him today, but that was a giant turnoff, so I'm staying downstairs with the pets and my book (The Lies of Locke Lamora, which is excellent, for the record) and I've poured myself my second rye&coke of the evening (Crown Royal Harvest, absurdly tasty). No intentions of handing over any quality time. It's petty, but what are you going to do?