Being sick is the worst. I’m one of those people who can’t just shut down and be sick…but have to instead agonize over every little thing that needs to get done, get said, be accomplished….sit around trapped inside a shell that can’t…but must. But doesn’t. I can’t imagine the thoughts of those who deal with this on a regular basis, that are battling more than a cold or flu. God forbid something terminal. The sheer hell that their brains must put them through, especially knowing that there’s no “normal” in sight to return.
Jesus. On that bright note….
I have been sick going on nine days now. That doesn’t include a brief stomach flu stint that I had a week prior to getting sick. Originally I was put on antibiotics for a respiratory/sinus infection. Now I’m being treated for bronchial pneumonia. It was my birthday present this year. Happy being an old lady day…here’s the sick. The gift that keeps on giving. I got some good birthday swag, don’t get me wrong, and had a great dinner with the kids juuuuuust before things got really unbearable, but the sick was the big whopper. Hopefully I get a do-over. Wait, one birthday a year for me is plenty. I’ll pass. Maybe I’ll just devote one day to myself and spoil the shit out of me and anyone else who wants to come along for the ride. Because I can. And in this state of sick depression and sitting around thinking about how horrible everything in my life is, it’s not. And I need to stop feeling sorry for myself. I need this satanic bacteria that has crept in my chest, my brain, to leave and let me get back to normal. For whatever normal is worth.
Finding a clean, simple wordpress layout theme for me is like….insert something really freaking hard here.
They advertise super easy, clean, no muss no fuss layouts. They don’t deliver. I’ve done the photo sliders and the complicated this and that’s, and even once had a blog site where I taught myself how to read, understand and manipulate html to get the perfect complicated effects that I wanted….now I just want a simple one column layout where I can change a few colours, have a widget bar on the side for a few incidentals, and write. Oh, and I’d like some pretty font. That’s all.
I thought I’d fallen for this one….until I realized that the widget bar is on the bottom of the page. Not really feeling that. It also looks like shit on my cell phone. It’s Libretto, btw. It likely won’t be after about twenty minutes from now. I’ve tried out 15 layouts today.
And I’m sick. I have an upper respiratory infection and this is day 4. I’m also writing on my new laptop, which I was super stoked about until it came in and I started using it. Within the first hour of plugging it in, I got over 12 error messages that some crap had discovered a problem and it needed to restart to fix the issue. 12 times. It finally stopped….Lord knows why or how but it ust have worked itself out. Did you notice the typo in the last sentence? There’s no “m” in must. You know why? Because the damned m key sticks and I’ super tired of having to go back and ra <--- that's supposed to say ram that sucker in so the words make sense. Oh, look...the "I'm" back there doesn't have an m either.
It's not a good webby day. It's not a good patience day. It's not a good respiratory day.
It's not a good me day. It started last week....a few months ago and hasn't stopped.
Whenever I hear the song “Let’s go all the way” by E. Sly Fox, I think of my parents. That sounds a lot weirder than it’s intended.
I came home from school one day and sat down at my desk to do my homework. I noticed the desk had been ransacked. Someone had gone through it, and didnt even try to hide it. This was the first time that I realized my parents were assholes. Well, probably not the first time, but this one resonated with me. Still does, to this day.
Anyway…there was a peice of paper in the middle of my desk. It was the song lyrics to Let’s Go All The Way, written in my handwriting. Back then, we didnt have internet lyric sites and google play apps that give you instant lyrics. You literally had to stop your cassette tape and write ot down, sentence by sentence…or listen for it to come on the radio and write as fast as you could. Teenagers these days have it sp much easier in the lyric department. (Hey there, old lady.)
My Mother thought it was a love note. I don’t know to who…it’s not like I had anything close to a boyfriend. That’s the first time I realized my Mother was a bit out of touch. (As all teenagers think their parents are.)
And it wasnt so much that she was out of touch with pop culture, but that she was completely out of touch with my life. I don’t know what possessed her to think that she had the need to go through my things when I wasn’t home. I was a good kid. Not because I was a goody two shoes kid…because, let’s face it, I got into my share of shit and looking back it’s a wonder I survived some of the shit that I pulled…but since we moved just before highschool, I had no life. I had no friends. I woke up, went to school, and came home. I stayed home on weekends. My highschool life? Pretty tame and lame and sad, really. Especially with 2 knee operations in grade 9 that basically nailed the loner aspect. When I was able to go to school I couldnt do stairs so I spent forever sitting in the guidance room doing my work, alone. The only people who ever talked to me were the ones who saw me in there every day from the hallway and wondered what the hell I was in there for every damned day. Yeah, I was a badass!
I never looked through my kid’s rooms. I thought about it a few times, but never did. It wasn’t even because ignorance is bliss. It wasn’t because I didn’t want to know what I would find, I just didn’t feel the need to invade their privacy. I never thought that looking through things that didn’t belong to me would give me a parenting leg up. An advantage for things to come, a way to avoid dangers of the future.
I wasn’t the best mother in the universe, but that’s one thing that I am proud of. And we made it. They’re in their 20’s now and healthy and criminal record free, and happy. Finding scanty song lyrics, or a contraband of some sort wouldnt have changed anything. They could have had dangerous secrets hidden in their private sanctuaries, and maybe they did….but there’s more to parenting than invasion of privacy. You have to do the best you can, and hope to hell it’s the right thing, and have faith in your kids that they know who they are and where they came from.
I’ve wanted to sit down a million times and write posts here and I’m such a loser I never bother to do it.
I want to talk about my amazing summer at the lake, and how I spent the night in a dog kennel to raise money for the Humane society, and how on that night I met my latest love, my little Richard Parker who has been photographed and displayed here. I wanted to talk about femine lady things and how they led to the insertion of an IUD and how that has made the last two plus months of my life pure hell. And about Christmas wonderment. And about feline calicivirus disease and how that has made our last few weeks a living hell, especially for my Richard Parker love. And about love and disappointments and family and so on and so forth.
And home renovations…..and new ideas and excitement over a new season at the lake, soon to be….
….and so on and so forth times a hundred.
And I will. But right now I’m going to eat a ham and cheese sandwich.
It’s funny sometimes, you wake up in the morning and all feels right with the world. Then your day begins and that one tiny thing sets you off on a path of knowledge that today, of days, will not go well for you, or anyone else that is associated with you.
The lack of appreciation that you feel on a regular, if not daily basis, comes in droves. You get to the office and read an email, that is meant to be uplifting and informative, makes you wonder why it wasn’t just called “Ways to kiss the Boss’ ass.” and instead makes you want to punch babies. Disclaimer, it WAS a pretty ass-kissy email. Fuck that at 9am. <—- See what I mean??!
So, here’s to you, sibling in raving lunacy…you are not alone. You are in good company. Mediocre company. Meh, you’re not alone.