I'm just amazed at how quickly the time is going. It doesn't seem like anything is happening, nothing special here at home, cats are getting fat, grass is growing, the sun comes up in the morning, goes down at night and the day is gone!
I just spent the last hour trying to update the archive page with the years 2023 and 2024 and damn, it had been so long since I did anything there, that I couldn't remember what I had to do. There were expletives and poor Goose kept getting pushed away because I was trying to type and think at the same time and a cat laying on the keyboard, grabbing my fingers pretty much interfered with that.
Oh, well. I'll be seventy this year, which explains a lot. With time being relative, a day in my life at sixty-nine goes by a lot faster than a day in my life at forty-five, for sure.
Somewhere along the way I lost my focus. Why? Social media? Facebook? Maybe, it's a lot easier to just post a little there, then walk away. Making a weblog entry is a lot more work and the spell checker that came with this now outdated software no longer works, so that sucks.
I'm still working on last year's holiday cards. I'm hoping to have them finised by the end of February (which makes me laugh because last August I was telling myself they'd be done by the end of November - I got lost along the way, kept changing what I wanted to do and now, I'm finally there! Yay!).
I'm fairly healthy, my mind is still mostly here, except when I get migraines. I lose my words. A couple of weeks ago, one started and I went back to Brian's shop to tell him, but I couldn't get the words out. So frustrating. I can't even THINK of the words, I just know the ones I'm using are wrong. There's a name for this: aphasia.
The first time it happened it scare the
out of me, I thought I was having a stroke. I couldn't remember the cats' names. (This is when we had more cats.) I tried over and over again to list them out in my head starting with the oldest. A few hours later, I was back to normal (except for the headache that followed).
I didn't start having these until late in life and luckily, they rarely last more than forty-eight hours. My sympathies to those who have lived with these their entire lives.
I got my mammogram last month, everything is clear.
Our primary care physician is retiring. Damn it. Now we have to break in someone new. Maybe she'll prescribe the stuff that works for overactive bladders. Our current physician said I'd have to go to a clinic and do exercises and stuff like that. Leave the house? To learn how to pee? Seriously? (I get up about three to four times a night now, no wonder I'm always so tired.)
Brian is doing well, work is busy, I hate the cold, I hate the high energy prices (greedy rat bastard utility companies, raking in record profits while crying poor and raising our rates - we run our furnace less than two and a half hours a day and the thermostat is set at 65°). Last night we were watching Northern Exposure and my hands were so cold I put gloves on. The arthritic index finger on my right hand was in horrible pain. The heat helped.
So, I guess life is just plodding along. I have decals I need to do for Brian's business, I have foam circles I need to cut for the holiday cards. I need to take a shower.
And maybe look for a spell checker that will work with this software. Fun life.
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