In this post: Neuropathy hell, William Powell, Thanksgiving giveaway.
Thursday night was one of the miserablest — so miserable I don’t even give a crap if that’s a real word or NOT — nights in recent memory, where I didn’t actually go to bed AT ALL. Around 6:30 in the morning I finally dragged myself to the family room and slept on the chaise until 9, hung out in the study with Sam until he left at 10:30 to pick up my insulin prescription and a load of dry cleaning, and then headed back to the chaise, where I remained unconscious until shortly after 3. I totally missed lunch — HOLY CRAP! — and I don’t remember saying goodbye to Sam when he left for work at 1:15.
But here’s my point. (Yes, I’ve got one. I promise.) Usually when I have a miserable night it’s an isolated incident followed by several consective nights of restorative sleep. Not this time, people. This time I’m wide awake TWO NIGHTS IN A ROW, my feet are being zapped again with electric shocks and I’ve got a craving for a gigantic Marcytini with extra ice and a coaster. Writing a Howdygram post is the only way out of my neuropathy hell. Also William Powell movies. I’m thinking Life with Father (1947) with Irene Dunne and The Kennel Murder Case (1932) with Mary Astor.