It would be five things if I bothered to divide them up with numbers somehow.
Grandpa has now been in the hospital for three weeks. He continues to improve, but: three weeks. With no certainty that he'll be out again this coming week. Without intruding too much on his privacy, this gives you a general idea of how much room for improvement there was at the worst point. (It has been really hard, frankly, to find the line between "indicating how serious this all has been" and "trumpeting personal details over the internet against the will of the person whose personal details they are." I don't think Grandpa has a carefully formulated policy on discussing his health on the internet, but I know he doesn't mind my friends knowing he's been in the hospital and is getting better again, albeit slowly, so that's where I draw the line, mostly.) I realized how inadequate some of this communication had been when I startled a close friend with the current assessment of Grandpa's health yesterday--it was a hopeful assessment, and it sounded good to me in context, but my friend didn't have the context and was really hoping for something more like "he is not turning cartwheels down the hall yet but we expect that by Tuesday" for all the improvement I've been saying (and meaning!) that Grandpa has had.
Springing ahead did me no good whatsoever this year. Usually it enables me to sleep into the joyful decadence that is the seven o'clock hour. This year, no: up at 6:30 just as if we hadn't turned the clocks back. Sigh. At least there was a pecan roll for breakfast to console me. And more to come: there's an entire pan of them from Wheatfield's, an entire pan of cinnamon rolls, and a vat of frosting for the cinnamon rolls. I saw this vat and thought perhaps Kathy and Bill and Mom had picked up soup for us for dinner from Wheatfield's, and I wondered what soup they had there that was good, since I never get the soup. But no: frosting. Uff da, the frosting.
This was merely one example from yesterday of How I Have Monkeys and Why It Is Sometimes Very Good To Have Monkeys.
I have the Solar Flare song in my head. The "hallo birds sky molesworth I am dying of radiation poisoning" song. Well, the molesworth is my paraphrase rather than the actual song. I don't want to disappoint anybody over molesworth space travel songs that don't exist.