Fog

Fibrofog--I need a foghorn on my head. Today is really weird--although so was yesterday, come to think of it. My Google account got hacked. Mine? Who would bother with mine? I can hardly get enthused about it myself. My life is dull, dull, dull, and I like it like that.

I don't do really well with rapid-change environments, stress, Thursdays, and weather changes. I can blow out all the stops in an emergency--my mother had a heart attack, and just for the heck of it, a stroke following the procedure to place 4 stents; I went with her in the ambulance to Albuquerque, and stayed up there with her 6 days--normally, it takes 2 days, but they forgot about her, looked only at her age, and left her to lie around without a bath for 4 days--enough, don't get me started.

So I've stayed surface-side until she's back on her feet, which she is, remarkably so, and in fact, she sneaks around with her cane instead of her four-wheeled strolly-thing that the cat likes to ride on. But my heavily-guarded stamina took a real beating and I'm blogging now because I may be down for the count shortly. This morning I woke up feeling like small people with geology hammers and and other blunt instruments had been pounding me all night. Ah, back to normal. I thought everyone felt this lousey waking up for years, and it turns out they don't. Sheeseh--what did I do, miss the memo? Done whinging for now. TTYL and a refuah schlema for everyone hurting.