Feb. 26, 2008 at 11:18am
(ready to donkey-kick February to the curb)
today's word, courtesy of the Bettylicious dictionary: Shittylicious.
To recap yesterday: sick kid, me sick, no cell, aunt in hospital, still, after two minor strokes...
Add today: I'm still sick, and the kid is feverish and whiney after a really long, whimpering, much-waking head-hurting night's sleep (magic cure discovered: cool washcloth, while waiting for Motrin to hit),- so we have a doc's appt at 2. Great. In the meantime, I had a discussion with The Man, who was in a poopy mood prior to leaving for his trip, and is still in poopy mood and seems to think the whole "lost cell" think could have been helped. Sure, it could have, but going there is just as inane as my mom asking me where I lost it: if I knew where it was, it wouldn't be lost, right? If I hadn't lost it because I'm an organized perfect person, then I'd not have lost it, right?
I didn't get a chance to tell him the dryer is broken; the heating element seems to be dead (it's happened about three times before, then, under warranty; now, not so much.) because The Kid grabbed the phone to tell him about her lost tooth. Her gaps are symmetrical now. Cool.
I'm feeling ever so slightly better about today, so far, because I have plans: return a couple of items purchased yesterday, then purchase Caldrea dishwashing liquid (at Dwell? Or Urban Gourmet and Garden?) because it has special antidepressant qualities that make me see things in a brighter light, go to Proctor and pick up the Mermaid art from last week (the week before?) and then, sit and snuggle in the bed with the kid, watching new Barbie movie (go ahead and give the courtesy gag- yes, the movies are dire, to a degree, but at least the skinny little large-breasted wretch isn't too terribly "victim" in her roles) (and it's better than the Bratz Kids princess movie The Kid wants...)
I won't think about the downstairs DVD, broken, or the dryer filled with wet clothes, or my own pounding head, or The Man being a jerk, or my aunt, scared in her hospital bed, or my mom, ashamed of me not having visited my aunt, or the scale needle moving in a bad direction due to lack of formal movement, or...any of it... I'll think about this time next week, and how this is all just a passing moment in time.
And I'll revel in my daughter being sweet as she whines, "can you please get me that washcloth thing?" (gotta love a "please" through misery)
musing her way through arts, culture, dining, shopping, exercising, and parenting, all while wearing a pungent, truffle-like aroma.