Dramamine made me feel normal again, like I wasn’t hungover AND drunk on a boat in a squall. And we had it in the cabinet at home, didn’t even have to get someone to get any for me.
I can tell I’m getting better because I’m getting antsy again. I tend to get antsy about five minutes after believing I’m starting to feel better. It is infinitely frustrating for those around me, because I do tend to want to build a better house around the one I’m in right when what I should be doing is resting, not digging out hammers and building supplies.
(A simple solution to this, I’ve found, is to read or watch decluttering pr0n — Lala’s letting me read her new book, It’s All Too Much, An Easy Plan for Living a Richer Life with Less Stuff. Do you know how much this stuff excites me? And then it falls out of my head as I drop into a nap, better than dropping off the ladder as I try to clean ceilings — do any of you have a fave declutter show that I can TiVo? There’s was a British one I used to love, but I can’t remember its name, and I’m not sure what’s on nowadays.)
Yesterday, I didn’t do too well. Because of the nausea I hadn’t eaten anything all day, so about noon-time, I knew I should be hungry, but wasn’t. I looked in the freezer and found some frozen ravioli that I thought didn’t sound too revolting, so I put on water to boil. While the water was boiling, I thought I would do some dishes. That was my first mistake. Not quite strong enough for dishes yet, because they exhausted me half-way through and left me in a full-body sweat. But no worries, I’d eat and feel better.
Got out the pasta sauce from the fridge, not sure if it’s still good, let’s open and have a sniff, and the WHOLE JAR flies out of my wet hands and lands on the tiles, exploding into a gazillion-trillion tiny little shards of red glass. It sprays from one end of the kitchen to the other, from the sink to the back wall. Even hit the ceiling.
I, of course, because of the state I’m already in, burst into tears and start cleaning. The dogs think lapping at shards of tomato glass is their new favorite hobby, and I’m SCREAMING at them, which doesn’t go well for anyone, because I’m not very loud, tonsil-less this way, and it’s mighty painful, but my body language must have been devastating, because they dropped to the ground under the kitchen table and stayed there, tails between legs. Normally not so good at the Stay, them. Even the kittens listened to me, and I’m not sure they’ve EVER heard me before.
I was in big trouble with Lala about this, doing too much. So I’m determinedly Not Doing Too Much. I’m going to read and watch more TV and nap a bunch more today. She has people coming over tonight but I am NOT CLEANING THE HOUSE. Even though it’s all I want to do. But I won’t. It’s her gathering, not mine, and I will merely take a shower (this is a big deal) and wear something befitting an invalid, and flit through the living room at times, looking gaunt and possibly wan, if I can pull either of those off (I don’t think I can, but forgive a girl for trying, right?).
HaHA! I am coming BACK!
Digit is doing great, but very sadly, still has the cone. They took the stitches out yesterday, but the skin is still raw around the two spots they did, so they want him to wear it a while longer, poor bub.
Whew. And that’s all I got.
Get a Free Short Story!
Subscribe to get a free copy of Socks for Alex, a Cypress Hollow Short Story, compatible with all devices!