(I want a proper keyboard. This blue tooth thingy likes dropping letters and quitting mid-line, and since I'm not a touch typist I don't notice till a non-appearing sentence later.)
Was- not woken because could not sleep, but rousted from bed early Monday by 1 a.m. phone call from semi-coherent staff whose father just died that night, wanting me in at 9 to cover her shift. Which obviously had to do, even if I had to do it on four hours belated sleep. Next day required an 8:30 shift and a nap midday before the afternoon's shift. Wednesday was physio, which always hurts, and heat and extremely cranky babies. Last night I slept ten hours finally making up the loss, but also woke achy and draggy and sore-throated, either from Crud Redivivus or incipient rain. OTOH my sense of smell makes a tentative comeback: not nice stuff like my carbolic soap and lavender dishwashing liquid, but work necessities like stinky poos and stinky farts. Which I shall be grateful for: anything is better than nose blindness.
Florence and Mary's house down the street sold last year to a rather skeevy type who clearly intended to develop it for chesp and then flip it. Development plans came in the mail last week and involve tearing th 140 year old structure down, putting in a brutalist boxy stucco-covered mega house, adding a third floor, building out twenty feet into the back yard, and putting balconies on each floor at the back, overlooking all the neighbourhod yards, leaving the way open to cover the balconies in wood awnings and further block all sunlight from the two-storey houses to the north of it. This, BTW, qualifies as 'minor variance from the bylaw.' Elmtree's Mom and Audrey's dad immediately called a neighbourhood meeting to oppose this at the hearing in two weeks time. I didn't want to go- have discovered my perennial reluctance to attend these things is something called social anxiety- but did anyway, and found myself amongst a dozen neighbours as well as my bro and s-i-l. Shall go to the next meeting and send the required letters to the Planning Cttee, in spite of social anxiety and Eeyore convictions of doom.
Have swapped ebook jinni for The Shepherd's Crown, but don't want to read that past the last of Granny Weatherwax. Ah well. Some day this cruel war will be over.