February 20, 2011
Outside of taking the kids to work in the morning, having a shower, changing the bed, and getting groceries with Stephen, I spent most of yesterday in bed.
The only day since I've been sick where I didn't have to get up and stay up for the day.
I slept a little bit.
Finished The Weed that Strings the Hangman's Bag.
Excellent book, by the way. I strongly recommend it. But read The Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie first.
I just can't seem to sleep for more than a couple of hours at a time before my inability to breathe through my nose and the hacking cough wakes me up.
Or I am experiencing mind shattering leg cramps because the dead weight that is a sleeping Frankie has been leaning against me all night.
Return my car and be well.
Is that really too much to ask for?
I'm at the frustrated part of being sick.
The space in between oh-no-I'm-sick-and-just-want-to-rest and I-don't-think-I'll-ever-be-well-again-and-this-will-be-my-lot-in-life-for-ever-and-ever-but-I-have-things-to-do.
Where you do things because you're feeling well, and then all of a sudden your body reminds you that the control you think you have is tenuous at best, and really just non existent.
Your body will do what it wants to do.
And if it wants to rest while you're in the middle of marking interviews, tough shit.
Rest it is.
So, today I will attempt to do both: rest and work.
Balance.
In an effort to move past whatever obnoxious virus has taken up seemingly permanent residence on my insides.
Grocery shopping when I'm feeling well is a challenge.
When sick, I approach grocery shopping the way Gordon Ramsey approaches lazy, poorly trained, unprofessional chefs in his kitchen.
There were several instances, while we were attempting to negotiate through the throng of shoppers who thought it was perfectly fine to stop in the middle of the aisle for a chat like long lost friends who just saw one another yesterday, or fuming at the woman bogarting the red peppers and honeycrisp apples to the point where no one was able to get near enough to even see how many peppers and apples were available for purchase, where I looked at Stephen and said "if you do not move me away from here, I may do something I won't regret."
I wanted to throw a full fledged, all out Gordon Ramsay inspired temper tantrum of astronomical proportions because I was just sick and tired of being pushed and pulled, bounced back and forth like a ball in a pinball machine all because I wanted my regular brand of coffee and I wanted to get out of the grocery store before I, in a fevered state, start pushing aside grocery carts and people with reckless abandon.
Fever, plus congestion that is so intense I may only be alive because I'm breathing through my hair follicles doesn't make me amenable to the woman who was hovering around the cold medicines like a helicopter over a landing pad.
Don't get between me and my Buckley's night time cold pills.
The fact that they don't work for longer than a couple of hours means nothing.
Two hours is better than nothing.
We could have left the grocery shopping for Monday, but I have other things to do on Monday.
If I was better organized, I would make sure I went grocery shopping when there weren't so many people around.
I was also worried the kids would start eating one another if we didn't replenish the necessities.
I have to be well today, at least enough to get myself to Quaker meeting and afterwards, pull together an application for government funding to hopefully enable me to hire a student over the summer, and mark interviews for my advanced methods class.
Government funding is always a crap shoot.
Last year I applied for five students with the hope of getting one.
It worked.
Then.
But maybe not now.
Let's hope.
Otherwise the other book project I have on the go will never be finished.
Yes, the other book project.
The one I don't talk about because then I'd have to admit that I may be in way over my head until I can get a sabbatical to be able to finish it.
A sabbatical is sounding really, really good right now.
And I really, really hate marking.
Like grocery shopping, it's something I don't even like when I'm feeling well.
Title Lyric: Oh, the Congestion by Piebald
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