A Day Spent Recovering From Pneumonia:
Call doctor office for various med refills.
Load and start dishwashers. (N.B. That last bit is surprisingly important. Place yellow sticky note informing myself of such on fridge.)
Take Rory and friend to choir.
Retreat to Smushy Chair feeling somewhat shell-shocked. Drink water, sip tea. Continue recovering from pneumonia.
Drink more tea. Consider adding whiskey to it as did Queen Victoria.
Decide Queen Victoria didn’t have to drive herself around while simultaneously realizing I probably have no whiskey.
Feel rather depressed about this.
Eat chocolate chips instead.
Figure a fat driver is far superior to a squiffy one.
Remember people living in this house will no doubt eventually expect some type of dinner. Attempt to think of something that “sounds good”.
Wonder why other people refuse to consider yogurt with chopped apple, or perhaps cinnamon toast with tea a proper meal.
Despair that other people are extraordinarily contrary and unreasonable.
Envision planning dinner and indeed, an entire week’s – perhaps even a month’s – menu. How organized I would feel! Perhaps a new WIP is in order: Total Organization By Lisa: The Original Utah Liberal & Eclectic Free Spirit.
Feel a vague, dawning realization I may be delusional. Attempt to take temperature using the hand-to-forehead method. Admit to self I’ve never really understood just how to do this.
Check time, realize Rory and friend must be retrieved from choir within the next half an hour.
Tell self and Mimsy Dog Action Must Be Taken and accordingly begin To Do list.
1- Vacuum house. Or, (being the preferable method this is starred), find someone else to do it.
(Note starred method as “Eternally Optimistic And/Or Insane”.)
2- Make hair appointment, hoping to transform my hair into three colors once again rather than four. (Color number four, which will keep insisting on growing from my head, has been deemed as unacceptable.)
3- Writing: Several WIP’s require attention. The Blog (aka The Platform, a term I passionately dislike) requires attention.
4- Homeschool: Focus on Science and Literature Papers.
Focus on Spanish and French.
Focus on Merit Badge Tie-In
5- Recover from pneumonia.
Drain teacup, re-realize the time, shoo Mimsy from my lap and jump into car to fetch Rory and friend from choir.
Pick up Wyatt en route from Bus Stop, making a pit stop at home for “his gear” and deliver him to Rugby Practice on time.
Watch Wyatt walking to Rugby Field while sadly agreeing with Rory’s comment of “Holy Crap! All those guys are about three times bigger than Wyatt!”
Contemplate fact that, had I not been massively ill with pneumonia for the past month (or perhaps three, it’s rather a blur), I would never have agreed to Wyatt playing Rugby.
Become irritated that people do take advantage of me when I’m ill.
Particularly my children.
Consider this a genetic flaw; wonder if children are actually adopted and their biological parents were untidy, manipulative little shits.
Resolve I am absolutely positive they are not adopted and said genetic flaw, (if indeed true), was undoubtedly inherited from me via my mother.
Return home more or less reasonably assured Wyatt will be “catching a ride home with a friend.”
Set Rory to doing math.
Fold four huge baskets of laundry.
Discover there is absolutely nothing for lunch. Laud the wholesomeness and nutritional value of yogurt, apple, and cinnamon toast to depressingly skeptical Rory and Annie.
After some effort Rory discovers two forgotten Ham and Cheese Hot Pockets in freezer depths; lunch is saved.
Stomach curdling odor of disgusting Ham and Cheese Hot Pockets coils ominously from microwave as I swallow down two more of the oblong pills which stick in my throat and sip more tea; trying to forget long ago youthful dreams of nutritious meals, organized days, and jeans which fit.
Decide I will never Feel Better Again. Good Health is a Thing Of The Past.
Switch on Nova as pathetic, substitute science tutorial. Fall asleep in Smushy Chair just as some spacecraft named after someone approaches some planet presumably somewhere in space.
Awake with a start, confused and headachy after several minutes. Or perhaps an hour. Or two. Stare at television. Either Arthur the Aardvark is now occupying the above nameless planet or Nova episode is over.
Set Rory to completing Citizenship In The World Merit Badge and wander vaguely into pantry.
Stare at thawing chicken in pantry sink with despair; can think of nothing to cook it into for dinner. Search for a tin of tomato soup, cloudily recalling it paired alongside grilled cheese sandwiches as making an acceptable “sick room” meal.
Alas – tomato soup is nowhere to be seen. Entertain fuzzy notion of somehow creating it from scratch but realize, even in my semi-advanced state of delirium this would no doubt involve having actual tomatoes on hand which naturally I do not.
Reenter kitchen, jumping as I pass a frightening, disheveled person with a pile of frizzly hair and a dried streak of drool down both sides of her mouth.
Realize I’m looking at myself in a mirror.
Note To Self: Remove that mirror. What fool placed it there in the first place?
Consider going back to bed. One is, after all, recovering from pneumonia.
A hurried retreat ensues after discovering what an utter and total mess it is.
Pause in hallway, debating whether that actually was my bedroom. Wondering if perhaps I’d wandered into a hitherto unknown storage room instead.
Begin to test forehead for fever, recall this does absolutely no good whatsoever. Return to kitchen, swallow two pinkish, oval pills and one tiny, rather evil looking grey one.
Discover dregs of orange juice in fridge. Pour orange juice, despite its rather dubious appearance, into a glass. Make another cup of tea.
Assure Rory there is no need to “call dad ’cause you’re acting kinda weird and look really sick.” Assure him “yes my face is always this color.” Agree to his suggestion of “Free Reading Time.”
Re-retreat to Smushy Chair. Sip whiskey-less tea, realize it’s absolutely freezing in here and gaze wistfully at stone cold fireplace. Imagine how nice it would be if someone would build a crackling fire, and perhaps figure out something to do with thawing chicken.
Feel with some certainty there could be a connection between those two things, if only one could remember what.
Discover forgotten To Do List.
Scratch out today’s date from it, replacing it with tomorrow’s.
Experience great sense of satisfaction along with a slight dizziness; wonder if evil looking grey pill has anything to do with this.
Imagine it no doubt has.
Attempt to gulp down orange juice. Spend some time chewing as it seems to mainly consist of pulp.
Rory offers to make me cinnamon toast and suggests Wyatt might bring home pizza for dinner.
I agree to both and we turn Arthur back on.
Feel remarkably better.