Self-sabotage ... by the way, the word 'sabotage" comes from textile workers in Lyon throwing their clogs, sabots, into machinery to stop it, and at strike breakers. (You can read about the silk textile workers here. I read about it when I visited Lyon in 1992.)
Okay, so now you can tell that I am still in bed writing and have yet to distribute Greenies, drink my sweetness-of-life drink nor made coffee.
The self-sabotage was getting home exhausted and then somehow staying up until very late watching Sons of Anarchy in bed. That and the Cheez-Nips dinner and I am not feeling so perky today. I just didn't fall all the way asleep. D'oh.
Gosh, my recalcitrance to get Greenies got a hungry Cooder to actually eat the food in her dish!
Night now.
Good thing I wrote this morning as I am thoroughly ready to pound the pillows. M, J, and I lazed around companionably this evening watching multiple episodes of American Pickers.
I didn't get very much accomplished in the moving world today, but I suppose I am trying to orient myself. I made it to Trader Joe's, took Albert on a good walk, made a very nice pasta, and had a lovely dinner chat with M, who brought home a celebratory bottle of Coppola Red Wine. I'm still stuck at sixes and sevens, but maybe I am ranging from fives to eights now.
It turned into a beautiful day.
Gosh, my recalcitrance to get Greenies got a hungry Cooder to actually eat the food in her dish!
Night now.
Good thing I wrote this morning as I am thoroughly ready to pound the pillows. M, J, and I lazed around companionably this evening watching multiple episodes of American Pickers.
I didn't get very much accomplished in the moving world today, but I suppose I am trying to orient myself. I made it to Trader Joe's, took Albert on a good walk, made a very nice pasta, and had a lovely dinner chat with M, who brought home a celebratory bottle of Coppola Red Wine. I'm still stuck at sixes and sevens, but maybe I am ranging from fives to eights now.
It turned into a beautiful day. 
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