I'm so tired. This time I really mean it. I got up early so I could soak in the hot tub before I had a professional stretch session, which was immediately before I had my usual massage with Slow Hand. When I left the spa at 12:30 this afternoon, I was ten feet tall and bulletproof. I was feeling like a Real Goddamn Human Being, like a normal instead of a freak. Then the Mr says hey, I'm going to take a couple loads of concrete up to the claim, to where the cabin will eventually be, and do you want to come with. Unless I am nursing a broken leg or about to bleed out and die, of course the answer is yes, I want to go to the mountain. I don't think I ruined my massage or anything, but I'm pretty sure I used up all the good in my legs, on the walk back down after dark. We stopped by the casino for dinner on the way, and there were classic cars parked out front, from an uphill car race this weekend. I didn't get a picture of the turn of the 20th century car that first caught our eye. I'll have to borrow one from the Mr tomorrow. But there was a sexy Mercury that woohooed me, and a ratty old Oldsmobile station wagon that brought back a lot of memories about The Tank, Grandpa's early 70s Pontiac station wagon that was the source of eternal embarrassment when my stepdad would pick me up from high school in it.
I took a lot of pictures today, from the yard this morning in some really beautiful light, to the walk up the mountain, where my job was to dog-sit and tend the fire (and I did it well). I think I'll just throw out a whole bunch of photos, and see what looks good once it's out there.
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