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killing a week
March 24, 2008
So what have I been doing to kill the last week?
Working, of course, although I had another short workweek due to illness. I was down sick again, with the mysterious ailment that makes me ache like hell and sleep like the dead. I was pretty much unconscious from 7:00pm Tuesday to 1:00 pm Wednesday. Except for a couple of bathroom trips, and brief spells of sitting up to alleviate my hip and back pain, I was out cold for 18 hours. And I mean out cold. Even after I was able to get up and be coherent, I was only up for about two hours before I had to go take another 3-hour nap. I made myself stay awake through the evening, so I could get some night sleep and go in the next day, another eight hours wasn�t even enough to get me back on my feet and I ended up staying home another day (I don�t know what this is, but I know I can�t afford it.). I was a bit better once I got up around 10:00 am Thursday, but I was still dizzy and achy and groggy.
And the whole thing was much exacerbated by my period. After much delay, it came with a vengeance; I was basically hemorrhaging for about three days. Interestingly, however�and probably indicative of the state of my hormones�I only started to break out towards the end of the proceedings, rather that before. And break out badly, I might add�nothing like a big old third eye, smack between the other two. Painful, unsightly, and hard as a rock. Of course, that could have more to do with an occasion where I wanted to look nice than my period. I�ve always been (well, since I started getting acne in my late twenties, anyway) one of those people who get a stress zit just when I particularly want to look nice.
Regardless of work and illness and such, I have managed to fritter away a bit of time on entertainment this week. I�ve read a bit, Alexander McCall Smith and T.R. Pearson. I�ve been �making millions�, playing a casino video game that has slots and bingo and card games and roulette. And I�ve even watched some television. I saw the first 3 episodes of �John Adams�, which I�m rather enjoying. I usually don�t like Laura Linney much, but she did a great job playing a very great lady. On the other hand, I always find Paul Giamatti riveting, and this role is no exception.
And Tom Wilkinson? How can one man be so consistently astonishing? His Ben Franklin is spot on the money. But how can just showing him as he was, per endless history books, reveal a character I feel I�m meeting for the first time? I�ve loved Wilkinson from back when he was just a �Hey, it�s that Guy�, popping up on various episodes of �Mystery!� on PBS, in Inspector Morse or Miss Marple. I remember recognizing him in his shamefully brief role in �Sense and Sensibility�, and how I relished his opportunity to shine in �The Full Monty�. By 1998, he had the vituperative Marquess of Queensbury (Wilde) under his belt, and had appeared in another high-profile movie, �Shakespeare in Love�. It was at that point that I stopped holding my breath for his career, and began to just sit back and enjoy the ride, confident that he was just going to get more and more visible. History, in this last decade, has borne me out admirably.
Anyway--
I went back to work on Friday, despite still feeling like shit�but I had a couple of meetings scheduled and didn�t feel I could miss them. Dummy me�they both ended up being cancelled. And I ended up stuck at the wrong end of the tollway when the fucking �What�s so Good about it Friday� Blizzard of �08 struck.
It took me two unholy fucking hours to get home from work. Crawling down the highway at an idle, dealing with traffic and construction zones and the hideous weather the rapidly deteriorating pavement conditions and the usual crop of midday idiots and the additional burden of holiday travelers and fuckwits who don�t know how to drive in the winter.
And when I did, Spouse immediately felt we needed to go out. BTW, he was home Thursday and Friday for Easter, and I really could have lived without that, given the way I�ve been feeling.
LST, we went out, did some grocery shopping, came home, I threw together a pot roast dinner and shoved it in the oven on 325, and THEN I collapsed into bed for several hours. The bed I should never have gotten out of to begin with.
Spouse took it fairly easy the next day, since our neighbor plowed out our drive and that was the only real heavy lifting, despite a 15-inch snowfall. To his credit, Spouse had gone out and cleared the walks several times throughout the storm, so it never got too bad.
I would have loved to have taken it easy on Saturday, but plans for Sunday meant that the laundry and housework had to get done on Saturday. Spouse, of course, was off in a corner, fucking me over by blithely making plans for Nephew to come over, spend the night, go to bookstores, etc.
I threw a good old-fashioned shit fit. He had to call Nephew back and tell him the deal was off. As much as I love the kid, I just have to have, once in a fucking while, a weekend where I can run around in my undies, dyeing my hair, painting my nails, shaving my legs, etc. That ain�t going to happen in my tiny little house, with a 6�5�, 300 lb. 17-yr-old boy under foot. So�no. The foot came down.
So I was the bitch and the villain and yadayadayada. Never mind that he has no clue about what�s involved in women�s grooming, since he comes from a background of 6/7th male and 1/7th butch bitch.
Never mind that the main reason my Saturday was too damned busy was that I was being forced to sacrifice my Sunday to Easter with his family. Nope, I�m a bitch, it�s my fault, I spoil all the fun, etc.
Whatever. I did also force him to vacuum, though�maybe I am Cruella DeVille.
I must say that once I put my foot down, I was able to do those things I mentioned, and am now reasonably shaven, and sporting freshly painted nails and brown hair. A trifle darker than I�d like it, but I�m afraid that it�s getting to the point where lighter shades are just not covering the grey. But being a brunette won�t kill me.
I looked quite nice for Easter Sunday, I thought. I wore my new coral top over brown slacks, accessorized perfectly with the really great, really marked down jewelry I found the other day, my new purse, and even my nail polish and lipstick the perfect shade of coral. (Yes, lipstick. As Niece said: �You�re wearing MAKEUP!!!!!�) Nothing too fancy, but looking well put-together, nonetheless. It was a perfectly pleasant couple of hours, with good food, and everyone more or less behaved themselves. My not-quite-15-yr-old Niece told an off-color riddle*, my ditzy sister-in-law knocked over a glass of champagne, and Spouse got a trifle loud after 2 Bloody Marys and a beer. But nothing too extreme. And over within two hours, which was a blessing for me. These aren�t even really people I dislike, but with the way I�ve been feeling lately, it was still a strain.
Since we were up that way anyway, we stopped at the Omega and got some soup for supper, and headed home to get comfy and kick back for the rest of the day. I lolled around, playing on the computer, hanging with Mr. B, and vegging in front of a DVD. Spouse pretty much did the same. I heated up the soup around 6:30; that was all we really felt like after the brunch buffet, so I�m glad we stopped and got some. He went to bed, I watched John Adams at 8:00 and then followed suit.
*Q: What did the egg say to the hot water?
A: Be patient�it�ll take me a while to get hard. I just got laid by some chick.
Reading: "A Short History of a Small Place" (1985), by T.R. Pearson. The first novel of a trilogy centered around the denizens of a small southern town. Pearson�s debut novel.
Surfing: John Quincy Adams. Last night�s episode of John Adams piqued my interest in the younger Adams and his life.
Listening: Levon Helm, �Dirt Farmer�
At Random: click here
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