Believe me when I tell you that I had all good intentions to check in last Saturday -- the holiday be damned -- now that I am posting again. But, as we all know what the Road to Hell is paved with, yes?
The truth is I was asleep. For like 20 hours a day. In the midst of a weekend visit by friends I got sick. It was, mirabile dictu, a virulent response to something that's blooming, sailing through the air,or being shat in my yard by birds or feral cats. Being the logical type I tried to figure out, with the help of Cuthbert who got his Ph.D. in the Science of Mind from the Matchbook University of the Greater Palo Alto Community School District, why this had happen a moi after a decade or more of being seasonal allergy free. Seasons come, seasons go, my sleep pattern alters a bit, and life goes on. I just thought Claritan commercials were weird, that's how much I paid attention.
So, we said, what has changed? Cuthbert grew a lawn in the back this year. Would new grass be any different than that knarly crab grass that we lived with (because it went to so well with this knarly house)? Don't think so. Our retired neighbor is single-handedly trying to raise homeowner's property values on our little block and is on a one-man weed whacker crusade. His rule of thumb is: if it's higher than 2" and closer to the curb than 3" it's coming down. So, many a morning while I'm watering the garden he's out there giving the block's weeds a haircut. I put that in the maybe column. What about the front yard, which now that it's beautiful with a profusion of flowering whatevahs my neighbors' opinion of me has gone from (in Spanish and English) "that weird woman with a white husband" to "that weird woman with a white husband who can grow some purty flowers", was it causing this malady? I didn't want to blame my yard which gives me no end of pleasure and since I'm already a member in good standing of the I'll-Suffer-For-My-Art Corp, if it turns out that my front yard is making me sick, well I'll go. It stays.
By the time we figured out that we didn't have it figured out I was quaffing a solution of sassafras and other herbs brewed by my friend who not only likes to cook but is a herbalist by avocation. I'd drink, blink and go back to bed. Everyone carried on very well without me, going ahead with the day after block picnic (which I joined for a while), cooking, sleeping, and putting a mirror to my lips to see if I was still breathing.
I didn't feel particularly bad -- no fever, not much phlegm, no nausea or vomiting -- I was just so very very tired and my brain had been replaced by a gigantic sinus cavity. I still can't smell; I can just barely taste. (It's probably sense memory and nothing more.) That's not necessarily a bad thing since it means I eat a lot less. I can't complete a sentence without coughing up a lung and since I am always on the verge of or well into a headache, when I'm out in public I looked like I'd just as soon kill you as talk to you. (This is often true even when I'm not sick.)
Cuthbert thinks I had, have a mild infection. Old Indestructible Moi thought that was nonsense until 2 days ago when he started to exhibit the same symptoms, too. Fatigue, empty-headedness, and in his case, skeletal aches and pains. Last night, feeling incrementally livelier than I had in days, I stayed up late ironing and watching the original Wallender (in Swedish). (When I'm in slo-mo reading subtitles is soothing.) I had already stood over him in the bedroom (well before dusk) and told him I was sleeping elsewhere. It was obvious he was sick and was probably going to wind up on both sides of the bed and what the hell?, if what we have are infections why would I return to the scene of the crime?
Although this house is small, it does have an extra room. (I've slept in a convent with larger sleeping quarters.) I didn't even bother to move the linen I'd been piling on the bed for weeks; I just weaseled my way under the covers with aspirin and water within reach and went to sleep. I woke up knowing I was getting better. Parts of my brain had re-occupied my skull and I could breath through 2 nostrils and my mouth! Not much, but I'll take it. My hope is to have enough energy and will to houseclean today. The place looks manky, and I can only imagine that it smells worse. We'll see ...
Thus ends this installment of How I Spent My Summer Vacation.
The truth is I was asleep. For like 20 hours a day. In the midst of a weekend visit by friends I got sick. It was, mirabile dictu, a virulent response to something that's blooming, sailing through the air,or being shat in my yard by birds or feral cats. Being the logical type I tried to figure out, with the help of Cuthbert who got his Ph.D. in the Science of Mind from the Matchbook University of the Greater Palo Alto Community School District, why this had happen a moi after a decade or more of being seasonal allergy free. Seasons come, seasons go, my sleep pattern alters a bit, and life goes on. I just thought Claritan commercials were weird, that's how much I paid attention.
So, we said, what has changed? Cuthbert grew a lawn in the back this year. Would new grass be any different than that knarly crab grass that we lived with (because it went to so well with this knarly house)? Don't think so. Our retired neighbor is single-handedly trying to raise homeowner's property values on our little block and is on a one-man weed whacker crusade. His rule of thumb is: if it's higher than 2" and closer to the curb than 3" it's coming down. So, many a morning while I'm watering the garden he's out there giving the block's weeds a haircut. I put that in the maybe column. What about the front yard, which now that it's beautiful with a profusion of flowering whatevahs my neighbors' opinion of me has gone from (in Spanish and English) "that weird woman with a white husband" to "that weird woman with a white husband who can grow some purty flowers", was it causing this malady? I didn't want to blame my yard which gives me no end of pleasure and since I'm already a member in good standing of the I'll-Suffer-For-My-Art Corp, if it turns out that my front yard is making me sick, well I'll go. It stays.
By the time we figured out that we didn't have it figured out I was quaffing a solution of sassafras and other herbs brewed by my friend who not only likes to cook but is a herbalist by avocation. I'd drink, blink and go back to bed. Everyone carried on very well without me, going ahead with the day after block picnic (which I joined for a while), cooking, sleeping, and putting a mirror to my lips to see if I was still breathing.
I didn't feel particularly bad -- no fever, not much phlegm, no nausea or vomiting -- I was just so very very tired and my brain had been replaced by a gigantic sinus cavity. I still can't smell; I can just barely taste. (It's probably sense memory and nothing more.) That's not necessarily a bad thing since it means I eat a lot less. I can't complete a sentence without coughing up a lung and since I am always on the verge of or well into a headache, when I'm out in public I looked like I'd just as soon kill you as talk to you. (This is often true even when I'm not sick.)
Cuthbert thinks I had, have a mild infection. Old Indestructible Moi thought that was nonsense until 2 days ago when he started to exhibit the same symptoms, too. Fatigue, empty-headedness, and in his case, skeletal aches and pains. Last night, feeling incrementally livelier than I had in days, I stayed up late ironing and watching the original Wallender (in Swedish). (When I'm in slo-mo reading subtitles is soothing.) I had already stood over him in the bedroom (well before dusk) and told him I was sleeping elsewhere. It was obvious he was sick and was probably going to wind up on both sides of the bed and what the hell?, if what we have are infections why would I return to the scene of the crime?
Although this house is small, it does have an extra room. (I've slept in a convent with larger sleeping quarters.) I didn't even bother to move the linen I'd been piling on the bed for weeks; I just weaseled my way under the covers with aspirin and water within reach and went to sleep. I woke up knowing I was getting better. Parts of my brain had re-occupied my skull and I could breath through 2 nostrils and my mouth! Not much, but I'll take it. My hope is to have enough energy and will to houseclean today. The place looks manky, and I can only imagine that it smells worse. We'll see ...
Thus ends this installment of How I Spent My Summer Vacation.
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