Thursday morning was the best morning I've had since moving to Kansas. I spent it in the cemetery with a friend of mine who's forgotten more about stone than I'll ever know. We wandered about, him pointing out different stones to me and telling me how I can make some of the repairs myself. At one point we can across a stone that was face down in the dirt:
Him: have you flipped this over to see what's written on it?
Me: no, it's too heavy
Him: Pfft. It's not THAT heavy.
Me: you can say that 'cause you're 6'3" and a fucking monster. I, on the other hand, am 5'2" and...well, NOT a monster.
(and he IS a big, big guy - not big as in fat, but big as in muscular. If he wasn't such a softie I might find him intimidating - but don't tell him I said that).
I came away from our meeting with high hopes and feeling great.
And then Hubs came home and I reverted back to my usual 'total fuck-up who can't do anything right and knows nothing about anything' role.