The tiniest bit of congestion, a little acheyness (I can't spell that word for the life of me and the dictionary doesn't seem to recognize it so fuck them- I was achey) and that was about it. It didn't interfere with my days and not much with my nights.
Gibson and Lily had it, Owen may have had it, or at least a "cold very lite," and Hank has had it, although a more severe version.
Last night I was talking to Mr. Moon on the phone and he said, "You still have your cold, don't you?" and I said, "Oh, it's just drainage. I'm fine."
And then it seemed to change in just that moment from nothing at all to something and now I feel sick and the congestion is more severe and my eyes ache and so does my body and well, hell's bells.
Why not? is more appropriately the question to be asked.
Ah well. It's a cold, not the plague. I'll probably survive.
It's cold this morning and it froze last night. I worry so about Baby, roosting up in a tree all by herself while the other chickens are safe in the hen house, cuddled up. I guess birds are warm-blooded. I don't really understand how this works. Yesterday Owen asked me to draw a penguin and I can't draw for shit so I sort of drew an oval with eyes and tiny flappy wings and a beak (do penguins have beaks? I don't even know) and he drew nipples on the bird. I tried to explain to him about mammals and we'd already had a discussion about monkeys versus apes and I think he was sort of burnt out on the zoology lessons. He listened as I explained how some animals called mammals have fur or hair and they nurse their babies so yes, they have nipples, but birds have feathers and they feed their babies food with their beaks and so they don't have nipples.
He didn't care. He insisted that this penguin had to have nipples which sure didn't make that drawling look any less like a penguin.
So where was I? Oh yeah, Baby. She seems to be fine, that spunky little chicken. But I do worry about her.
I've already baked a loaf of sourdough this morning. I've been invited to a party over at the house of the people who gave me the starter and I let that loaf rise all night long. I have no idea if it's even fit to eat although it does smell good. It's pretty dense with whole wheat and oat flour and oat bran. Let's just say that you're going to need a full set of teeth to eat a slice.
I don't know if I'll go to the party. Besides the obvious- my lack of social skills these days and the lack of desire to go out into the world to display them- there's this cold thing. And I have to go to the grocery today to buy the things to make the Christmas Eve feast and I was going to bake another kind of cookie (dear Lord, stop the madness!) and I suppose I need to start wrapping presents although I'd rather remove my fingernails, one by one with a pair of red-hot pliers. I need to take the garbage, go by the post office in hopes that some more Christmas presents have shown up, and wash my dogs because although they are still alive they smell like death.
That is not hyperbole. I am a nurse. They smell like death.
So I've got a full day ahead of me and oh yes, I promised that I'd take Owen's soccer ball to him although he's probably forgotten that by now. Or maybe he hasn't. You never know with kids.
I suppose I better get started. I might have some Sudafed stashed away somewhere. I hope so. It's more difficult to buy damn Sudafed these days than it is to buy a gun which is unfortunate in that it is one of the few over-the-counter drugs that actually does anything. I could take this moment to go off on the NRA and their statement yesterday but I won't. I don't have the energy so I'll just say- fuck them.
And I guess that about covers it. A Saturday morning ramble. It's cold and clear outside and cozy inside and Buster, who doesn't smell quite as much like death as his sister, Dolly, is lying on a chair beside me, snoring softly. I need to go see if I can find my old recipe for eggnog. Lily asked me last night what it tastes like. I considered the question. "Noggy," I said. "And nothing like that shit you buy at the store."
I won't even buy that crap.
"But that stuff tastes delicious," she said.
"No it doesn't. It tastes like melted crappy ice cream."
I need to show her what real eggnog tastes like. I sort of wish I had some right now. I could sip some and lay around and wrap presents and watch crap TV and just enjoy my cold.
I told you the world wasn't going to come to an end.
Happy Saturday, y'all.
P.S. Found it. I really used to have excellent handwriting, didn't I?