Diuretics, Primroses and Magic

Well, the perkiness has worn off. The nausea hit last night and won’t let up. I suspect the diuretic is playing havok with my electrolytes at the moment, which would cause this queasiness I’m currently enduring. I really shouldn’t be complaining about this at all, since others are enduring far worse symptoms than a jumpy tummy. It does have a way of wearing a person down, though.

I spent a restless and uncomfortable evning in bed because of the nausea, and when it was time to get up this morning I simply couldn’t do it. I called in and told them I’d be in by noon, and went back to bed, where I finally got some sleep. It was still hard to force myself up at 10:00 though, and I’m probably going to be dragging my butt for the rest of the day.

The O’Beast continues to concern me. He did show up for breakfast this morning, but he left his bowl mostly untouched. I’m trying to convince myself that he’s discovered some common sense in his middle age and is trying to get some of that excess poundage off of himself, but I don’t really believe that. I’ll make an appointment to drag him into the real vet’s sometime next week.

The primroses I purchased continue to wait patiently under the outside table to be planted. When I bought them they were still half in bud, but now they’ve opened up and are absolutely glorious in their jewel tones. I want to get them into the ground Saturday; wish I could do it earlier, but it’s dark when I get home, and I’m usually too tired to deal with any major physical exertions by that time of day anyhow. It occurs to me that I’ll need to purchase myself a garden trowel. It will be nice having a real garden to tend again.

MoonriddenGirl’s entry of today has prompted me to mention that I’m currently in the middle of Charles de Lint’s latest book of short stories. Entitled “Tapping the Dream Tree”, it continues his series of stories about the fictional town of Newport and the people who live there. I’ve never read anyone who has quite the touch for modern fantasy that de Lint has. He has created an urban setting complete with slums, crime, the down-and-out and those living on the margin, songsmiths and artists, social workers and abused kids, and intertwined it with the magical and inspirational. He’s created modern pixies, hobgoblins, devils and angels, and fit them into the mold of today’s society. The themes are sometimes a bit reminiscent of Gaiman’s “American Gods”, but without Gaiman’s hardened cynicism. There is something absolutely uplifting about de Lint’s writing, and these evenings reading his short works is like working balm into my psyche.