I keep wanting to tell you, Pet, that I think of you more than once every day:
1. Each time I do the Tibetan Rites since you told me to support my neck. I haven’t figured out how to do that and still strengthen it at the same time, but am trying. I bet you thought I ignored that bit of advice when you gave it, didn’t you? No, but I didn’t respond to it immediately, as my focus doesn’t change that quickly from what I’m doing to what someone is saying. But it did get through my noggin’and lodge itself there.
2. When I am in bed at night and trying to retrain myself not to sleep on my stomach, but on my side instead. I still want to bury my face in the pillow and scoot my knee toward it, but lying on my side definitely does remove pressure from my neck.
And now … farTA it is cold today!! Even in the house!! I am getting into the tub just to warm up. It’s Fella’s birthday and I have no gift, no card, no cake, no plan to celebrate with him. The least I could do is feel sexy and maybe that will lead to making his day. He wouldn’t give me an answer when I asked more than once what he would like for his birthday, if he would like a particular kind of cake, or to do anything special.
“Maybe you could go out and shovel barley with my brother, take my place this morning, that would be a load off my mind; I’ve got so much to do.”
Birthday Boy, I love ya and would like to give you a treat, but I ain’t taking over any of your farming duties. Not even for an hour. You want to keep farming in spite of promising me you had a five-year plan for getting out of it, and that five years was up more than a year ago, and you’re still shopping for machinery? You can keep working your butt off for nothing, and itching, and aching. That’s your choice. Not mine.
Goddamn it I AM a bitch! And need to be, apparently, or I’d be a friggin’ doormat.