Yesterday was a mixed bag.

On the plus side, I completed CPR/AED (automated electronic defibrillator) training and now have a cute wallet card. I will, however, defer to seven-year-old Boy Scouts at places like airports. By the way, it’s apparently an advantage not to watch television, because I had no delusion that I could resuscitate the dead, a gift only actors have.

I also learned that a colleague claims she would rather die than have her clothes removed for the administration of CPR (that is, until I reminded her that her children might not appreciate the result of such modesty). This led to the idea of a potential interview question, “Are you willing to have your clothes taken off?” and the natural extension of the following conversation.

“How did the interview go? Did you get the job?”

“No.”

“No? Why not?”

“I wouldn’t take my clothes off.”

I celebrated this minor achievement by waiting in wind, blowing snow, and frigid temperatures a half hour for a bus. Even better, when I got off the bus and headed for the corner, I fell on a smooth patch of ice cleverly hiding under snow. This was really for the amusement of the nearby college students, one of whom, a female, offered to help. She must not be a physics major, because even I know that without traction there’s no helping anyone slight up, let alone someone of my bulk.

I wobbled home on more ice and rewarded myself with tea, ham and goat cheese on peasant bread (later remembering that I forgot the heirloom tomato), and chocolate chip cookies. Then, while reading, I decided to warm up by taking a quick nap, just for a few minutes, just to rest my eyes . . .

And at 10:45 p.m. struggled out of one of the first untroubled sleeps I’ve had in a while.

I needed that.

And more.