I did not get out of bed last week. My mood was bad, my enthusiasm got a failing grade and my smile was in such poor form, if not nonexistent, that I chose to not subject anyone to that crap as it is always a first world problem and I am always the first in my own little world, as it is muffled from yours, silent and still.
Lochlan spent the first day fretting, the second day yelling, the third day he slumped into his own brief depression and then on Friday he summoned the doctor, who not only gave me more meds but also gave me some meds for the latest round of eczema around my nose, as I get stress induced bumps when it isn't caused by anything and everything else. I look like I have a very bad cold and my nose is raw. Ben called it a must-rash and now we're laughing again but I think it took far too long to pull off and this morning I got out of bed, showered and put on warm clothes and pulled myself the fuck together and woke up Lochlan and suggested we go for brunch so I could hit the ground running. He was so happy I think he cried and then I had to eat my breakfast with my left hand as he came and sat on my side of the booth and never went back to his own, a customary habit long in the making. I am decent with a fork in my left, anyway. I still have both eyes, so that's something.
That joke is also long in the making.
I have almost finished the Unabomber miniseries. I'm going to watch everything else in my list this winter and sit by the fire and rake leaves and shovel snow and be productive because that's the point of life. If not you're wasting it.
Those were the orders from Loch, backed up by the whole army. I asked if this plan had a name and he said Operation: Princess.
Cool.