Sure Signs I am Losing IT a Little More Every Day

I talk to my four year old, fifty odd pound Labrador Retriever as if she were a four year old child. Not that I would leave my four year old child outside to gnaw on bones in twelve inches of snow, wearing only what she was born with. I don't think I did that with the boys, at any rate.

I find myself weeping at the ends of passages in books I've read before. It doesn't seem to make much to make me cry the last few days, what with my body aching all over and a compromised ability to do much of anything. I had to split a batch of bread into two sections because I couldn't handle four loaves worth of dough. I do the dishes in fits and starts. They get done, but the effort is draining.

I am so grateful that I am not working in the next couple of months. Granted, a full paycheck is a beautiful thing, but the ability to concentrate upon my work does not exist. So a little disability income will come our way. I'll take advantage of the disability insurance we wisely took out on the house loan and the cars. We won't be rolling in dough, but we'll be okay. And if this everloving snow ever leaves the ground, I'll be able to work a little at a time in the soil and raise some vegetables.
I am so fortunate to deal with this illness with a roof over my head and a supportive partner. Thank God for large favors.