I’m sick. You know it: the memorize-the-wallpaper, breathe in/breathe out, don’t move, hurts everywhere, hot/cold, headache, sore throat, fuzzy brain sick. Even killing Zombies on my cell phone is too taxing.
I love killing Zombies.
The true test? I can’t look at even a photo of cake. Yuck. However, try to wrest this box of low fat wheat thins out of my grip and you die. Tea. Wheat thins. Go figure.
The Huns went on a trip. I have no one to take care of, so I get to feel delightfully, guiltlessly, sorry for myself, with a sliver of martyrdom, since there is no one to take care of me.
I have to make my own tea. I have to open the box of wheat thins all by myself. It’s too much for one person to tolerate. I’m at my breaking point. Even Christmas wants ME to get HIM his toys.
What is it about having the flu that turns one into a petulant five-year old? I have to resist the urge to call my mommy. I want to text everyone I know and whine. (Insert picture of Jane’s Dentist receiving text.) I can’t talk out loud without scaring myself.
I answered the phone.
“Sir, I’m so sorry. I have the wrong number” a familiar voice says.
“You don’t”, I say, “It’s me.” Not helpful. “It’s Jane.”
“Jane? You sound like you’re six-foot six! You sound like a guy. Waaaaait a minute. Is this the Undead Hotline?”
“Serial Killers R Us”, I say, “but we have a problem.”
“Too weak to start the chain saw.”
I spent the last hour thinking about how much dazzling I could have produced, if only I had a BeDazzler. Petulant. Five. Year. Old. Aha! Excuse to text Daisy.
Jane: we need a bedazzler
Daisy: true. why?
Jane: itty bitty foal blankets. Itty bitty bejeweled foal blankets.
Daisy: I ordered a suckling halter today. Smallest thing I’ve ever seen. So cute.
Jane: Focus. We could bedazzle halter.
Daisy: I want one.
Daisy: For real.
Jane: Me too. For real.
It feels like I’m confessing to something insanely inappropriate. I remind myself it’s not a questionable photo collection, it’s jewel encrustation. BeDazzler: now on gift list.
This is a blathery way of saying I’m calling in sick to the blog. Before I start to whine. If I call in sick, I haven’t wimped out on the postaday challenge.