Lounging in Their Caftans


I'd like to propose a toast.



Needs more butter.


Just kidding.  I'm so bloated, the idea of alcohol leaves me cold. 

This has been a really strong week for validation.  I had a long talk with my boss about the state of things.  I still have some lingering anxiety about getting to Arkansas, and that is exhausting. 

Last night, I had a lengthy dream about cleaning out my desk at my last company, and it ended up that I had several different desks around the office, and I also kept running into old HS classmates who are all, in real life, extremely successful.  So many of my peers ended up as lawyers.  Some doctors, some C suite types.  Me, I'm known for my killer bulletin boards at the office.  And making people laugh.  And cakes - my Easter cakes.  And I am known for loving my dog, taking care of my husband and my friends and family.  But not for my Juris Doctorate.  Or any advanced degrees. 

It's March, now  - and that's a good thing.  We are nearly out of danger for Winter weather.  That's my take, anyway.  I'm so ready for a big, bad Spring. 

Tomorrow, I'm having dinner with Jim.  I'm taking some Italian takeout over to his house, and we're going to debrief after nearly a month apart. 

Today, I had lunch with some of my other former colleagues.  Greek.  I have been incredibly distressed gastrointestinally ever since.  Gassy.  I've been gassy.  It happens.

I've been extraordinarily tired all week.  I'm not sick, I'm not dying - I'm just whipped.  I think it's residual from last weekend.  That is a huge reason I'm stoked to be heading into a weekend.  It's a good, good thing.   I need to get some things in shape here at home.  I have to declutter at least one room.  I also need to get on the ball and order some clothes.  We're dealing with Spring and Summer in Arkansas, and the guy I'm working with (to an extent) at the client site assures me it will be hot and humid.

Therein lies the problem.  I am starting to get what I think is hot flashes.  Peri-menopausal,  y'all.  Dig it! But because of this, I overheat all the damn time.  That means that I need material that breathes.  Cotton.  I need cotton.  And not knit.  Woven.


The Mrs. Roper Collection - Hot And Bothersome



That's not as easy to find as you might think.  Rayon is the name of the game these days.  I have to assume that synthetics are cheaper.  And it's not like I could do a natural silk and be any cooler.  Cotton.  I need cotton.

So, that's what I'm on the hunt for.  I also need things that will age well, wash easily, and so on and on.

I also need a big pile of money.  Please and thanks.

Anyway. 

I'm working my way through the choose your own adventure novel that is this week, and this time tomorrow, with any luck, I'll be eating dessert with my friend, listening to his stories, adding a few of my own.

That's the dream we're living, folks.  And that's how we roll.


ae



Comments

My own personal experience with hot flashes--part of the fun of health issues from a few years ago--was that I didn't overheat. I'd be sitting around and would suddenly just get warm. However your mileage--or wattage--may vary.
What baffles me though is the difficulty of finding cotton. Wasn't Hayden Panettiere just selling it as "the fabric of our lives"? Cotton should be easy to find in Nashville if it's that connected to Nashville.