I had a rough night last night - I don't know exactly why, but sometimes I don't know. I was awake crying until after 2 AM. Then I gave up, got up, took Benadryl, and had a bowl of Raisin Bran. I finally got to sleep around 3.
For one thing, I'd been reading Edna St. Vincent Millay again. She can shake my emotions loose like nobody else can. I read Interim, and it was all over for the night. I feel much better today - I'm avoiding all poetry, and all music except Blind Willie McTell and Muddy Waters.
Physically, I'm doing a bit better. I haven't formed any new blisters for 24 hours, and the old ones are beginning to heal. My throat feels almost normal. I'm still tired, but I was able to get out and run three errands today - things that didn't require contact with anybody. I do not want to pass this on to innocent bystanders, and it's so dreadfully contagious. I'm not even going to the post office this week.
Your family is coming for the weekend, and we're all looking forward to it. Of the next two days, I'll spend one tidying up the flower beds and the other dusting and cleaning bathrooms - which is which depends on what day the rain shows up. It is so good of them to come, even though they won't get to see you. They may come out to the cemetery for a visit, though - that would be nice, especially since the headstone is facing the right way now.
I hope to sleep more hours than I cry tonight - how's that for a goal? I'm sure Jethro is hoping for the same thing, poor baby.
Love you great huge bunches,
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