Usually after 8 hours of sleep I wake up raring to go downstairs and make those PB&J's for the boys' lunch. After I've brewed some Costa Rican coffee, of course. Today was different. I felt queasy. I felt like pulling the covers back over my head and sleeping some more, if only to ignore the blahness. But get up I did, because that's what mothers do, even mothers 60 days out from transplant. The problem with feeling good is that you tend to do more than you should. I am notorious for overdoing, and Sunday I pushed the envelope. Now I'm paying for it.
The weather isn't helping. It's cold and dark and rainy, and the leaves keep pouring down. Leaves I want to rake but can't. Normally, I'd take a morning walk, but that's out due to the conditions. I could work on some writing projects. I'm almost tempted to turn on the TV and watch whatever garbage they're churning out. I could continuing reading "Return of the Native." Decisions, decisions. I think I'll go downstairs and curl up with Turbo and Asta and snore the day away, dream about chasing rabbits. That would of course be illegal because I can't have direct "contact" with the dogs. But it sounds so cozy.
Tomorrow's clinic day in Boston. I have no symptoms to report (the blahs is not a symptom) so it should be a quick visit to the doctor to discuss my labs. I'll post the results on Thursday.
Have a politically satisfying Election Day. I'm pretty sure they cancelled it here because there's nothing to vote for.