So, so, soooooo sick! Is this thing EVER gonna go away?
Just now, I’m about ready for me to go away. Spectacularly tired of stinging and burning and hurting and not being able to walk across the room without the hip shrieking (metaphorically, of course).
Dog is fed. It’s a gorgeous morning. Need — want — to take Ruby for a walk. But migawd! It hurts so much I can barely stumble around the house…much less hike two miles around the park and through Upper Richistan.
Or even one mile.
Gotta get that poor li’l dog walked. Can’t leave her snoozing under the toilet all day.
Learned why the ineffable Luz is a cleaning lady and not a nuclear physicist.
:-D
Get this:
Along about the middle or late morning, I’m sitting at the dining table, soooooo sick I can barely wriggle. EVERYTHING hurts: hands, feet, head, belly, teeth, gums….whatever: if it’s part of my body, it HURTS. The racket from the vacuum cleaner and the toilet scrubbing and the general cleaning-lady carrying-on trumps trying to sleep.
Exhausted, I fold my arms on the table top and lay my head down.
Now the brilliant Dr. Luz wanders into the dining room and sees me with my head and arms flopped down on the table. She whips out her camera, snaps a photo, and sends it off to my son! With a message that I’m falling-down stinko DRUNK!
For.
The.
LOVE.
of.
God!
He comes flying over here in a freaking state. Apparently no brighter than Luz, he also decides I’m shit-faced drunk.
Understand: I haven’t even had half a glass of white wine, because I’m too, toooo sick to get around it. No kidding: I literally cannot drink a glass of wine with a little food: that’s how sick I am.
Like our honored Medical Cleaning Lady, he also concludes that I’m sh!t-faced.
An amazing fight ensues. Would’ve been more amazing if I’d had the strength to defend myself…but it was quite amazing enough.
He charges through the house, tossing everything in all the closets as he searches for Demon Wine. Finds one (count it: (1) bottle, which he steals.
Jayzuz!
I should can that stupid woman. But frankly, I’m too sick — way too sick — to clean the house myself, nor am I in any condition to conduct a search for a new cleaning lady.
Well. You may be sure that if and when I manage to get well enough to drag myself around the house, dear Luz will be seeking a new job.
What next, Lord?