thirty-minute timer

I didn't sleep well last night this morning:  every thirty minutes or so, my bladder woke me up.  Also sweated so badly on the clean sheets that I'll have to change them early.  So I know I'm probably unsound of judgment, and in a lousy mood.

... but, damn.  Social niceties.

( Whatever happened to 'I love you' and 'goodbye'? )

Now I've got a basic wash, I'm wearing a chemise, Burch is finishing his breakfast, and I've cleaned a poopy bin; I've still got to do another load of dishes, strip the futon of guest sheets and wash them, strip the bed I slept in and wash those, moisturize the itchy dogs, call my folks and wish them a happy anniversary, and figure out some dinner.  This is going to take me forever, I suspect.  (Sitting down at the computer to drink a Coke probably isn't any help.)  The yard is going to have to wait 'til tomorrow.