Sprig

As I walked in, the charge nurse was changing the assignments, because of sick-calls. Lost two people today, which meant lunches were iffy at best. I would be shifted to get my own lunch, then two scrubs lunch relief, to return to my own room a bit disoriented, but glad to be back. Seven hand cases, fast, takes good planning first thing to keep it whirling properly.


Wet and cool, with snow at the higher elevations. The skiers are downright gleeful. After such a long hot, I am as well. But then, I love sweaters and jackets and gloves and mittens, and I have a lovely purple circle scarf I am most eager to wear.

Making a meal of chicken thighs simmered in satay peanut sauce with green tea soba, remarkably pleasant. Moby gets some of the chicken, which he loves as well.

It's National Cat Day, so we have pampered our cats. Moby had chicken and a space heater, Eleanor got a morning cuddle and a large sprig of fresh catnip. They seem pretty happy, generally.

Smashed my finger yesterday, as I swore, I was amazed that my swearing was largely religious, rather than sexual or scatological in nature. Amazing how often in great distress, part of my brain goes very analytical.