Not complaining about winter; I love the snow. But cold and flu season? Has been kicking our butts for the past few months. We all need a few rounds of steroids and a hospital-grade air filtration system. Between the fever and the coughing and sneezing and aches and pains and constant morning sickness, I’m ready to start researching a Daredevil-style bed, one that blocks out all sound and light and feeling.
My hero Stephanie brought over a delicious assortment of Gatorade yesterday. Merrick and I are well-hydrated and cared for. Many people have offered to make us chicken soup; and while I appreciate all the thoughts, what I really need is…hmmm…sloppy joes?
Nothing even sounds good. Nothing in the world.
My eyes feel like they’re about to fall out, I’m so tired. I woke up at 3:00 a.m., unable to breathe and coughing and hacking like nobody’s business. The kids were all up in my bed, enjoying my electric blanket and gritting their teeth and thrashing in their sleep. So I went out to the living room. “What the heck,” I thought. “I’ll just catch that 4th episode of Downton Abbey. That’s sure to put me back to sleep.”
I finished that entire stupid first season. I get it now. I get it. All the smack talk? I’m sorry, okay? I love the clothes and I love the hats. I love Mr. Bates and Mr. Carson and I wish someone would pop that treacherous O’Brien in the mouth. Daisy is a total spaz, and Anna is just so pretty and sweet I could die. That grandma is hellabad. And Matthew and Mary? If they don’t get together, I’ll buy a gun and shoot my tv; I will so help me.
Downton Abbey. Whatever okay? It’s no Walking Dead, that’s for sure, but…I may or may not be desperately trying to figure out where to find season 2.