It's amazing how simply holding a prescription for antibiotics in your hand can make you feel better, regardless of whether you're actually better or not.
With meds in my possession and a cleared schedule, I am determined to rest this weekend. Getting healthy is a priority.
Well, getting healthy and getting groceries, that is.
Anyway, I thought I'd start the recovery process with a nice lie-in this morning. But sleeping in just never seems to work well for me. I'll never understand why I have to drag myself out of bed on a workday, but am wide awake at the dawn on the weekend. It's really not fair.
If my internal alarm clock didn't sound at 5:15 or so, the furbabies would certainly make sure I get up.
Our last kitty, Jet, had a habit of strumming the blinds, while sitting just out of arm's reach. Clever. She's also the kitty that I caught unwinding the toilet paper roll because it was interesting to watch. But that's another story altogether.
Our new babies have their own tricks. Ben wanders the house, crying at the top of his lungs. He sounds like a baby - a literal baby - that's being tortured. Or maybe I'm projecting my feelings of being tortured onto him. It's all the same, really.
Bridget likes to hop on the bed, wander up to my head and stick her nose on mine. The feeling of something breathing right on your face is a slightly unsettling way to wake up. If that, for some reason, doesn't wake me, she hops on the furniture and looks for things to knock on the floor. After item #2 falls on the floor with a thud, I'm usually getting up.
She doesn't realize that I'm getting up with a mind to kill her. I think she probably doesn't care - I've gotten up and that was the end goal.
Now that I'm wide awake, and they've been fed and fussed with, they're sound asleep. It's 8:45. This seems somewhat unfair.
I wish I was a cat.