Dry Spell

I seem to be suffering from a terminal case of writer's block. My poor little brain has been abused to the point of converting to oatmeal and it just flat refuses to put coherent thoughts together in the form of sentences.

Honestly when I looked at my last post and saw that it was a week ago my first reaction was, "Really? Because I could have sworn I did that yesterday." Then I began to reflect on what had happened to me over the last seven days, and realized that I have had seven complete days stolen right out of my life.

It seems like everyday for the last week my feet hit the floor running and when I did manage to get some sleep it was for about six seconds. Don't get me wrong, I loved every minute of the holidays with my family. My Grandmother, who just had her second hip replaced in August was in the best Christmas mood I have seen from her in the last 10 or 15 years. I guess not being in agony will improve one's mood.

I did receive one interesting phone call from one brother from another mother on Christmas Eve. Lawdog rings me and this voice that sounds like he'd been gargling with hot charcoal says,"You've got kids. What do you do for strep throat?"

"Go to the doctor," says I.

"Anything else?"

"Nope, that's it. Go get some antibiotics, " I tell him.

"Damn. Ok, thanks."

Then I read his post and see that his call may have been a day or two too late. Next time you feel like hell brother, move your butt down to the local shaman and get treated...goober.

My week culminated in an eight hour slug-fest with the ceiling in my new house's living room. My brother(from the same mother), God love him, offered to help me fix the slight sag my ceiling had adopted over the last owner's tenure. Now when I say slight sag, I mean the center of the room was close to two inches lower than the walls. We shoved two, sixteen foot beams into my attic via a hole we opened up in one gable. Lifted the ceiling with an improvised sheet rock lift and proceeded to spend the next six hours or so squatted down in the four foot high space that is my attic. Ye gods do my legs hurt. But the effect is marvelous.

Well, I hear a heating pad calling my name.

Tole