When the doctor says they want you to rest, they mean it.

I went out yesterday—thank God for the handicapped parking pass I wangled so hard to get—to arrange for my mom's Mother's Day present. I was out four hours and came home exhausted. James fed me a rather innocuous supper of turkey thigh with mushroom sauce; I still woke up this morning with stomach problems and feeling nauseated.

So I've either been napping again or reading Paris 1919. The weather's about to drive me crazy. The last two mornings it's been in the forties and I had to wrap up; now it's 81° bloody degrees this afternoon. It will be up in the sixties at night by the weekend, which means we'll have to light off the wretched air conditioner. And of course the Dobbins Air Show is this weekend. Why can't they hold these events when it's a decent temperature?

My fantastic wish is to be independently wealthy and have a second home somewhere in Australia or New Zealand. The moment it began getting warm in the Northern Hemisphere we'd pack up everything and go really south. Never to have to see summer ever again. What a delicious dream!

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. . . . . noted and logged by Linda at 5:26:00 PM

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