This morning, the electric skillet will get its first use. Coffee water is on the boil, vacuum carafe is already loaded with hot water, and it's frikkin' chilly in Roseholme Cottage. (I had cats, heating pad, etc. huddled under blankets and a couple of quilts all last night.)
Briefly lost my footing two days ago, putting away my router (the woodworking kind, not the networking sort). Slipped, recovered, put sideways stress on my right or target knee. Strained something, which became significant when the Data Viking and I walked the entire Indy 1500 Gun Show. (It was not-quite SRO and sellers reported a higher-than-usual lookers-to-buyers ratio. Flip side, ammunition prices are starting to drop; .22 LR is going for 11 cents a round and down. Well, 11.1 cents.) Oooo, I bought a gun, a clone of something Tam called a Toilet Paper Handgun. Sort of a "double-naught spy" gun, only not. (Watch this space -- well, that space, the one that doesn't have a picture in it yeah? Yeah, up a little, to the right...there. Coming attraction!)
I was in mild agony when we left the show for a late lunch at 10:01 with Tam and Shootin' Buddy, and making light of it. "Think of the free, heroin-like endorphins!" Fed, home, ibuprofen, iced up my knee, wham! Dead tired. Dog tired; dead-dog tired in fact. After the last guest left, I went to bed and zonked clean out, Welcome To Night Vale* telling me a bedtime story, whispering, whispering in my ears as I slept....
Woke again around 10, had a little snack, nosed around on the 'net, took more OTC no-hurtum, and back to the warmth of sleep. (Tam's cat cries when she can't fit into the warmest spot next to me, then gets irked.)
And now I'm up again, putting off fiddling around making breakfast, washing dishes the good old-fashioned way (warm water wash, cool water rinse, scald 'em and dry 'em. It's what we did camping when I was a child), followed by a cold-water shower session, if I dare.
* It's what podcasting was invented for, A Prairie Home Companion as produced by H. P. Lovecraft and narrated by an inadvertent mesmerist; one of their guest artists sharpened it to "Lake Woebegoth," and if you had to describe it in two words, those are the two. It's Tam's fault, she drugged it back from vacation and it's contagious. Now you have it -- you're welcome!
T. R. MCELROY'S STREAMLINED TELEGRAPH KEYS
1 year ago