diary of sick

It would be nice if I could find my cell phone, for a number of reasons. Communicating with the other humans is one. But also, I would like to take a picture of the blackened noodles and former soup that are glude (mispelling but I like it) to the bottom of the pot.

I have a monstrous headcold. On the one hand, it is too bad. On the other, it means I will be sick for a few days, which in the grand scheme is no big deal, because I thought that I was experiencing the rhinitis of pregnancy on a suddenly unbearable scale -- a scale that makes me snore myself awake in terror. And then look over, and see husband hiding with his head in a pillow sandwich with a look of when-will-this-end on his face. Yesterday I thought, and explained very confidently to him, that I simply wouldn't be able to breathe for the next 8 weeks. "Look at my face. My sinuses are swollen. This is because I have 150% the amount of blood of a normal human. This is just something that happens." But then I actually got sick, like the kind where there is one eye leaking all over whatever it's poised over. And as poopy as I feel, I'm sort of relieved that this is an acute condition rather than a chronic one.

Anyhow for most of the hours in the day today I didn't manage to get out of bed or to eat, other than to nibble on the cookies that the yoga instructor brought over yesterday. (I have the same dealer for cookies and yoga -- it's really a best-of-both-worlds situation.)

Anyhow in the fridge there was a pot with some big brand name chicken soup I had made from a packet a few days ago, and there was a tiny bit left over and I decided to heat it up. So I put it on a burner turned to medium in the kitchen. Then my brother in law called and I hung out in the bedroom talking to him for oh, about a half an hour, because we had a lot to discuss, like batman pajamas, and how he'd just received the Salt Lick barbeque we'd had delivered to his house as his Christmas present.

At this point in the story, I am about as offtrack as I was regarding the soup I was heating up. Or, what had become, by that point, the Burning Solid that was the Former Soup.

Because of how we are housing multiple cats who think they are on a reality tv show, or that they are perhaps outside cats, we have to keep the door between the bedroom and the front of the house closed in order to avoid scary acts of cannibalism. So the door closed in combi with an apparent lack of batteries in the fire alarm and my whopper of a headcold meant that I did not see or hear or smell or otherwise realize that the whole front of the house was was full of a throbbing gray cloud of noodle smoke. I actually believe that the noodles must've caught fire because they are whollu black, as is the entire inside of the pot.

I wish I could show you a picture.

Anyhow I was forced to open all of the windows in the front of the house and come up with a new sequestering plan for the wild animals so we could all coexist in the back of the house.

And through this I persisted in having nothing to eat. Since it's wildly snowy outside, I resorted to ordering food from the mediocre place on the main street in our neighborhood that caters to kids by serving things like popcorn. I'm not against popcorn, my any means, but a restaurant cannot live by schtick alone. I just wish that the stuffed mushrooms I ordered were as superlative as my stuffed head.