So, I can breathe through half my nose and my cough has changed from loud to productive. The driveway is clear of snow and the snowblower treated me kind and worked perfectly. The satellite dish – let’s not go there. Tree branches were sawed down and missed my head, I muddled my way around Etsy shipping rates, and sleep is lasting longer. My grandson’s joy of having me at his school overwhelmed me but my husband’s presence was what I missed. I’m staying put for Thanksgiving due to expected bad roads that I cannot fix. These aren’t big things, even thrown into one big pot, so I’ll blame defeat on being physically sick enough to not want to get off the couch, but having to anyway because there’s no one here to take care of me or things. So, let’s call it what it really is – self-pity – and here’s my own definition since the real one is wrong. Feeling sorry for myself because of the misfortune that has befallen me, for my awful circumstances. Kick the cold, not me. Solving the dish means asking for help – jeez, I have asking for help issues! Almost there! Don’t quit.