This was written... lemme see... wow: 2 January 2010. If you're a new Beloved Intrepid Reader, I am, as I was on 2 January 2010, stricken with the Dread Viral Crud, cannot sleep, and therefore feel compelled to raise whatever Dead Drafts that are not full of maggots or have worms playing pinochle on their unfinished snouts -- compelled, I say, to raise them from their Drafty Files into the light of day, or the lamplight of night, and where, O where, is the NyQuil?
There's some funny stuff hiding out in the draft pile. What's not so funny is how things don't seem to change much around The Manor. Remember, though: You're never in a rut so long as you have a moat! [C'mon, Intrepid Reader Darlings, 'Sing along!']
okie-dokie, so we are sick as dogs... although, where the meaning of that comes from, i dunno. dogs are not, by nature, "sick."
right?
in fact, i love dogs. i am not, by nature, a cat person, no that lifestyle was foisted upon me. (i just read that sentence out loud, and damned if i did not sound like w. c. fields. go ahead, try it, no one's listening. especially that end part... "foisted uponnnnnnn meeeeee."
i love dogs so much i once left fred for three days on behalf of my mostly lab girl puppy, name of emma. he was mean to her, and i had told him that were he mean to her ever again, i was leaving him. so there we were, after midnight, me (using a walker), emma, an overfull suitcase, and a big plastic bag full of baby girl dog paraphernalia... and one pissed off taxi driver.
a friend who was in barcelona had offered me the use of his apartment.
on the fourth floor of a building with no elevators.
just me and my outraged sense of justice for my baby girl dog who was highstrung, needed lots of exercise, and had a bladder that a pea might envy.
you know how this story goes. i managed three days, read all my friend's journals, all the secrets everyone had known for years, hurt myself in a dozen new and ingenious ways, but, by god, walked that dog five times a day, even took her to play in the park, but even emma was looking at me like, "why are we at alex's place? why can't we go home? don't worry about me, i can take on fred!"
we went home, but rather than force my baby girl dog to have to worry or fear anyone, i returned her to the animal shelter, and i pray every day that they did not take the light out of her eyes. the days when fred can't figure out why the hell i am such a bitch? those are my emma days. god bless that pup. her brain could not seem to process any incoming data as being code for less than brightly dancing bubbles and slobber love.
this virus is cruel. it's a grown-up's virus.
i woke feeling pretty doggone (who let the dogs out?) good. no coughing. temp 98.4 (no shit! i almost called an ambulance... "make haste, there's something horribly amiss!"). just an aching head, with pesky swollen glands. for me? a big nada. no problem. gonna coast through the day, get some work done, mebbe write a little, do my wii, a french clay facial and if there is time left in the day, clean the bathroom. (we're having procastination issues).
i was looking forward to showing off for fred. let him marvel at what recovery looks like, let him renew his faith, for it *is* possible to speak without a wheeze! "how do you feeeeeellll, ffffred, dahlink?"
"moi? moi? i feel fuh-fuh-fine, ffffred!"
while waiting for fred to wake up, i did morning chores,
and began to lag.
yes, the energy did flag, and i, i began to fade.
i was, in short, diminished.
sorry. i was briefly channeling t. s. eliot.
or yeats.
it's so hard to tell, anymore. i grow old.
eating the peach is not gonna be my issue. no, i think that monster slinking toward jerusalem is gonna get moi.
hey, i bought a new toothbrush the other day! wait, i didn't tell you i went out, did i? well, i did. grocery shopping:
and i had an emotional meltdown right in the middle of the damned store. see... i hadn't left the house in 29 days. that's right. TWENTY-NINE FREAKING DAYS. that's how high my pain level has been, how miserable my legs, these hands, how very, very bad it has been. oh, poor me, yeah, yeah, and... SCENE!
anyway, i had been begging to go to the store for days, but fred didn't connect my eagerness with the notion of going-to-the-store with my pure excitement at what looked to me as a FUN activity. so when we entered said establishment and he announced, "let's split up, we'll get done faster"?
i started to boohoo. can you believe it? how retarded am i, and increasingly so, with increasing frequency? it was pure lucy mcgillicuddy ricardo, without the charm or talent.
poor man. in fred's mind, i go out whenever he does (pretty much daily, and at least twice a week for social engagements. he had not counted the passing of TWENTY-NINE FREAKING DAYS, nor did he really register the number of DIY amputations of my legs that i had undergone in fits of desperation at the increasingly increasing pain. he *cannot*, of course, and i don't want him to follow the bouncing ball of my suffering, anyway, poor soul. i've ruined his life enough, don't you think? just trust me... he's told me so, twice in one week, once. with. a. period. between. each. word: and. when. are. you. going. to. die. anyway.
hard to transcribe.
oh, hell, where was i? did i tell you i am spiking a way high, a mile high fever?
the toothbrush. oh, yeah. so we were in the market, en train de faire le marché, when i remembered i needed a new one. i pop a few wheelies and race down the toothpaste, toothbrush, shampoo, deodorant, and sundries aisle. fred is tearing after me, the shopping cart careening this way and that... he sees me stop in front of the pitiable selection of plaque-scrapers, and calls out: "wait! we have a supply of new toothbrushes at home!"
now... i don't know exactly why that sent me over the edge (again) -- but it did. i had not been out of the house for... well, you know. do you get how hard it is to run a household by sending a guy with adhd to do the necessary errands? have you tried making a detailed grocery list when you are only able to go to the store yourself but a couple o'times a year? i am a very visual person. back in the day (i.e., before osteomyelitis, crps, before lupus and avn, before ai, and so on), i just took a mental stroll down the aisles, pictured what was there, made my lists in almost perfect synchronicity with the actual order of the products. i made a killer list, detailed but simple, a list on which even the most shopping-challenged could rely.
no more. oh no. now i am liable to hand my sweet abstracted man something in a breezy handwriting along the order of:
There's some funny stuff hiding out in the draft pile. What's not so funny is how things don't seem to change much around The Manor. Remember, though: You're never in a rut so long as you have a moat! [C'mon, Intrepid Reader Darlings, 'Sing along!']
okie-dokie, so we are sick as dogs... although, where the meaning of that comes from, i dunno. dogs are not, by nature, "sick."
right?
in fact, i love dogs. i am not, by nature, a cat person, no that lifestyle was foisted upon me. (i just read that sentence out loud, and damned if i did not sound like w. c. fields. go ahead, try it, no one's listening. especially that end part... "foisted uponnnnnnn meeeeee."
i love dogs so much i once left fred for three days on behalf of my mostly lab girl puppy, name of emma. he was mean to her, and i had told him that were he mean to her ever again, i was leaving him. so there we were, after midnight, me (using a walker), emma, an overfull suitcase, and a big plastic bag full of baby girl dog paraphernalia... and one pissed off taxi driver.
a friend who was in barcelona had offered me the use of his apartment.
on the fourth floor of a building with no elevators.
just me and my outraged sense of justice for my baby girl dog who was highstrung, needed lots of exercise, and had a bladder that a pea might envy.
you know how this story goes. i managed three days, read all my friend's journals, all the secrets everyone had known for years, hurt myself in a dozen new and ingenious ways, but, by god, walked that dog five times a day, even took her to play in the park, but even emma was looking at me like, "why are we at alex's place? why can't we go home? don't worry about me, i can take on fred!"
we went home, but rather than force my baby girl dog to have to worry or fear anyone, i returned her to the animal shelter, and i pray every day that they did not take the light out of her eyes. the days when fred can't figure out why the hell i am such a bitch? those are my emma days. god bless that pup. her brain could not seem to process any incoming data as being code for less than brightly dancing bubbles and slobber love.
this virus is cruel. it's a grown-up's virus.
i woke feeling pretty doggone (who let the dogs out?) good. no coughing. temp 98.4 (no shit! i almost called an ambulance... "make haste, there's something horribly amiss!"). just an aching head, with pesky swollen glands. for me? a big nada. no problem. gonna coast through the day, get some work done, mebbe write a little, do my wii, a french clay facial and if there is time left in the day, clean the bathroom. (we're having procastination issues).
i was looking forward to showing off for fred. let him marvel at what recovery looks like, let him renew his faith, for it *is* possible to speak without a wheeze! "how do you feeeeeellll, ffffred, dahlink?"
"moi? moi? i feel fuh-fuh-fine, ffffred!"
while waiting for fred to wake up, i did morning chores,
and began to lag.
yes, the energy did flag, and i, i began to fade.
i was, in short, diminished.
sorry. i was briefly channeling t. s. eliot.
or yeats.
it's so hard to tell, anymore. i grow old.
eating the peach is not gonna be my issue. no, i think that monster slinking toward jerusalem is gonna get moi.
hey, i bought a new toothbrush the other day! wait, i didn't tell you i went out, did i? well, i did. grocery shopping:
and i had an emotional meltdown right in the middle of the damned store. see... i hadn't left the house in 29 days. that's right. TWENTY-NINE FREAKING DAYS. that's how high my pain level has been, how miserable my legs, these hands, how very, very bad it has been. oh, poor me, yeah, yeah, and... SCENE!
anyway, i had been begging to go to the store for days, but fred didn't connect my eagerness with the notion of going-to-the-store with my pure excitement at what looked to me as a FUN activity. so when we entered said establishment and he announced, "let's split up, we'll get done faster"?
i started to boohoo. can you believe it? how retarded am i, and increasingly so, with increasing frequency? it was pure lucy mcgillicuddy ricardo, without the charm or talent.
poor man. in fred's mind, i go out whenever he does (pretty much daily, and at least twice a week for social engagements. he had not counted the passing of TWENTY-NINE FREAKING DAYS, nor did he really register the number of DIY amputations of my legs that i had undergone in fits of desperation at the increasingly increasing pain. he *cannot*, of course, and i don't want him to follow the bouncing ball of my suffering, anyway, poor soul. i've ruined his life enough, don't you think? just trust me... he's told me so, twice in one week, once. with. a. period. between. each. word: and. when. are. you. going. to. die. anyway.
hard to transcribe.
oh, hell, where was i? did i tell you i am spiking a way high, a mile high fever?
the toothbrush. oh, yeah. so we were in the market, en train de faire le marché, when i remembered i needed a new one. i pop a few wheelies and race down the toothpaste, toothbrush, shampoo, deodorant, and sundries aisle. fred is tearing after me, the shopping cart careening this way and that... he sees me stop in front of the pitiable selection of plaque-scrapers, and calls out: "wait! we have a supply of new toothbrushes at home!"
now... i don't know exactly why that sent me over the edge (again) -- but it did. i had not been out of the house for... well, you know. do you get how hard it is to run a household by sending a guy with adhd to do the necessary errands? have you tried making a detailed grocery list when you are only able to go to the store yourself but a couple o'times a year? i am a very visual person. back in the day (i.e., before osteomyelitis, crps, before lupus and avn, before ai, and so on), i just took a mental stroll down the aisles, pictured what was there, made my lists in almost perfect synchronicity with the actual order of the products. i made a killer list, detailed but simple, a list on which even the most shopping-challenged could rely.
no more. oh no. now i am liable to hand my sweet abstracted man something in a breezy handwriting along the order of:
apples, if they are under $1.39 a pound. and fresh. also, please don't buy them if the skin is even slightly loosened from the inner fruit. you know what i mean. like they'd been stored in a cold bin for too long. we're looking for très fresh. don't buy one without a stem, don't buy them if they're dimpled. smell them, for god's sake. didn't i see perfectly deep crimson delicious reds for $1.19?'
keep an eye out for endive. gots to have my endive. and one day, god willing, i will.
toilet paper. i don't remember this week's criteria.
pasta, wanna try some whole-wheat penne?
lowfat plain yogurt (7) as in SEVEN 16 ounce containers. please do not confuse the flower on the carton of the nonfat yogurt with the vanilla flower the idjits place on the lowfat. someone should write a letter, and yes, there oughta be a law.
stool softener (i'm sorry) -- docusate sodium, the largest bottle they have, should be a 400-count for about 18 blessed buckaroos.
drain cleaner
get yourself something for snacking
bananas, pears
muesli
12-oz cans of diced tomatoes, no salt, no sugar, nothing added
kibblebasmati, whole brown, jasmine rices
that everyday spray cleaner with vinegar as its only active ingredient. i like it. do you like it?
oils, of all kind. we are almost out of everything from sesame to peanut to olive. did you think that last bottle of olive oil was funny colored, very bland -- old -- tasting?
diet ginger ale
your purple sodas
my bread; your breads.
i love you for doing this, i so wish i could do it for you...
No comments:
Post a Comment
The Haddock Corporation's newest dictate: Anonymous comments are no longer allowed. It is easy enough to register and just takes a moment. We look forward to hearing from you non-bots and non-spammers!