The Wordmistress

Twenty-four Hours of Floozy

I'm recovering ... I think ... from the 24-hour flu. Literally. Like it came on with a bang Sunday night, mid Larry David and felled me, causing all kinds of nausea and dizziness. And I always know I have the flu when my wrists are weak. But I still went to work yesterday, because, I guess, it's easier than having a toddler jump on a pukey stomach. But I could not shake it. There were moments, I guess, when I did feel better, but it kept coming back. So much so that I had to go home and pass out (my friend Jamie was kind enough to take the child away). Then, just as steathily as it came on, it walked off. The veil of nausea was lifted ... pretty much at least. I mean at least as much so that I could deal with the flourescent green poop Mia had to lay on me at that moment. But the questions still remain:

1. How does it know when the 24 hours are up? This flu lasted precisely 24 hours. Weird and wacky stuff.
2. Why's it got to hit me so often? I'm a good girl. I take my anti-oxidants, wash my hands regularly. Yes, I could be working out more and lose weight. Okay ... my answer. Leave me alone!
3. What's with the wrists? I don't know why this always happens to me, but it's the sure fire harbinger that I'm fluing, rather than food poisoning or some other illing. Crazy shit.
4. And speaking of shit ... flourescent green poop? What is this child eating? And can someone convince her to use the potty already?? She does not listen to me.

On the lighter side of the news, please check out my new blog venture: My Fabulous Fake Friends. It's a celebrity blog and you can find it at www.myfabulousfakefriends.com.  Then, maybe you'll feel nauseus too!

A Colossal Pain in the Ass

It's been a very tough summer.

I guess I knew that I'd have a delayed reaction to my mom's death ... why wouldn't I? When she first got sick, and during her short, terrible illness I had to be strong. And then after. And did you know that the trial for my brother's wrongful death was going on right at the same time of her death? So still I needed to be strong. And, then we lost that trial. Somehow an allergy clinic that let a perfectly healthy 37 year old die after he took a shot he had taken a zillion times before was deemed faultless. Go figure.

And then, the day before my brother's birthday, my sister-in-law announced to my dad that she is moving in with her new boyfriend (a fact that my rational mind is in favor of; but my emotional mind still struggles with). There's more. I gained weight. I started eating improperly. My mother, despite the endless lecturing, was my north star, the sometimes cock-eyed wisdom through which I made all of my decisions.

Still, I thought I was doing okay. But my stomach didn't. My intestines, she started to rumble. Gurgle, gurlge, spurt. Then Peter Jennings died and Dana Reeve was diagnosed and I couldn't turn on a TV or pick up a magazine without a long, involved conversation about lung cancer. My dad called me to tell me that his oldest friend and colleague has three months to live. And then the inevitable:  Mr. Hemmorrhoid, how do you do?

I am so sorry to take you there. But I am not repressed and this was a doozy. I couldn't sit, I couldn't move, I couldn't breathe. And I couldn't help but see the metaphorical possibilities in this scenario.

My work friends, bless them, kindly took my outbursts in stride as I complained about the most personal of problems, wrought in tears of woe. And Wednesday, lying prone with the best doctor in town, I had the little bugger excised. And I feel, or at least I'm choosing to feel, that my most recent depression, my most recent descent into the dark side has also been excised, leaving me freer, better and more able to concentrate on sunshine, roses and, I'm terrified to say, Barbie ... because I bought one for Mia this week ... making this blog into a recap of two things I never thought I'd talk about.

Onward and upward. Cause there's no where else to go!

Um, OWWWWW!!!

So my throat is killing me. I put off going to the doctor for about a week cuz since Mia came along it's been impossible for me to actually gauge whether I am really ill or just faking it. Turns out I'm faking it. Doctor says that my throat is really red but there's no strep so it's a "virus", which I'm beginning to believe is doctorspeak for, "you don't have anything, go home and get out of my face." Still it was good to have some confirmation that it actually was red cuz I thought I was going crazy. And it was a good excuse to buy popsicles in the middle of a Chicago winter. Actually, ibuprofen is helping with the pain relief. I bet Vicodin would help even more ... know where I can get any?

Physical pain is of course, just one manifestation of the emotional pain that is growing this month for me and everyone in my family as February, the bleakest month of all, continues to march on. As some of you may know, the one-year anniversary of my brother's death is fast approaching, coming up on February 28. It is solemn and shitty and oh, so sucky in so many ways. Although I do not know exactly how my parents, my sister-in-law or anyone else who loved him feels, I know that we all miss him dearly and still grieve him with a lot of pain, agony and confusion. It's no wonder that it hurts to talk ... I'm surprised I can speak at all sometimes.

But time, for us, does go on. There are reasons. Mia mostly, little monkeyshine. My folks want so desperately for us both to be healthy and I really do try.

In the meantime. OWWWWW.

The Grind

In the scars and so-forth category from Thanksgiving:

As I was cleaning up the kitchen, I turned the water in the sink on. Fearful of stopping up the drain again, I stuck my hand down in the disposal to make sure it was clear. Then I put my other hand up to turn off the water. BUT FOR SOME REASON I TURNED ON THE DISPOSAL! Yes, I turned it on with one hand while my other hand was still inside. I could feel the machine hit my bones and quickly took my hand out. My mom watched on in horror.

I wiggled and jiggled my fingers. "Are they still here?" I asked, counting my digits but forgetting what the correct total was supposed to be. "Why?" Mom said. "Why did you do that?" I looked at her dumbfounded. She looked at me like I was just dumb. "Don't know," I said.

Later she told me I must have been overworked. All I know is my finger still hurts. I feel so lucky and so stupid, all at the same time. Sounds like my life.

Get Your Engine Runnin'

Which John Cusack Are You?

I guess it's time to somehow wean myself from the overdose of sugar and bad-for-you foodstuff I've fallen into over these past few days. I definitely feel better this morning, more motivated. I'm sure it has nothing to do with dreaming about John Cusack last night. As I've mentioned before, I do not usually dream about celebrities but this was a good one. I took the aforementioned quiz and unfortunately, I ended up being Rob Gordon from High Fidelity. I think of myself as so much more Lloyd Dobler. Oh well. My dream was very nice, though near the end he morphed into my friend Paul, which really pissed me off.

Last night I threw together another blog project I've been wanting to do for a while. It's a consumer rant blog called Consumerville. Course it's my dream that it would become a place that would actually threaten companies into acting right. But for now it's just a place to vent.

Oh yeah. A-Number One reason to be motivated today. Miss Mia started giving me kisses when I asked for them last night. Oh yeah. Nothing better than that.

Down Time

Post-Thanksgiving, post-birthday, post-haste apparently makes for a wasted mom. Without a towering list of to-dos, I am sitting here staring into thin air wondering what to do next. That is when I'm not pulling Mia's hands out of the garbage, the dishwasher and the kitty litter box. I guess it's time for some good ol' fashioned rest and relaxation. I thought I'd get some last night by watching Bruce Almighty. Too bad it sucked.

Why is it that a house full of brand new toys isn't as appealing as nasty, wet garbage in the can? Could you ask my daughter this? Try it in this language: blagwa fwoo gree phoo plaw. She may give you a big smile. But if you take whatever tidbit she fished out of the pail out of her hand, she may through one of her famous mini-tantrums. Her call.

I've got work on the horizon, but nothing on deadline this second. Thank you notes to write, but no concept for the cards. I feel a nap coming on.

The Worm Turns

So it musta been the flu cuz now poor Mia has it. It kills me. Poor girl's never been sick and now she's just been throwing up and throwing up. Why is it that the only time I've ever had to call the pediatrician is after hours, mostly at midnight? Course I'm still supernauseous so it's great fun dealing with this, but I guess this is motherhood. We were supposed to go to two birthday parties this weekend. Wah! Oh well. Bet you can't wait until I write about something other than puking!!

Well, how about this? Too boring to actually talk about, the Reagan thing that CBS shipped over to Showtime. Better than puking? You decide.

Thanks Mom

Well, it finally hit me. It was either the flu or food poisoning but it hit and it hit bad. Luckily my mom left Milwaukee at 5 am to come here and take care of Mia all day. I don't know what I would have done if she hadn't. She came armed with Gatorade, crackers and lectures. I couldn't stomach any of it, but it was great to have her. She really is amazing. Here is a picture of her when she was modeling as a youthful nymph back in the 50s.

Pretty lady, huh? She's still quite fetching. And she fetched quite a bit for both me and Mia today. Y'know, I really like being a single mom most of the time, but days like this I could really use a partner. As soon as it appeared that I could keep down solids, she hightailed it out of here. Don't blame her. It's a tough job running after Miss Mia who is walking like crazy now. And mercilessly stalking the kitty cats.

I still feel weak and peaked. Sleep beckons and hopefully I'll feel better tomorrow. At least so I can fend off some of the lectures ...

Under the Weather

Not feeling my best these past couple of days, tummy and head hurts and I won't bore you with the rest of the gory details. Needless to say, I am less than motivated to get my groove on with some of my own projects, though I'm having no trouble getting my paid work done -- thank goodness. And the paid work is picking up, which is a very very good thing.

So I've decided that perhaps I have an allergy to gluten. And I'm going to try not to eat any wheat. Which is going to be very very hard, I think. Aren't you so interested? Doesn't the discussion of my intestinal workings fascinate and intrigue you? Either way, I'm going to try to eat better. And cure cancer and create peace in the world. Ah yes. I'm starting to feel much better.

Pop Tart

I'm deep into Wilco's AM right now. Great disc. I was over at jodi's I Will Dare tonight and she was wondering what to listen to once she put her Paul Westerberg discs away and it got me to thinking. Used to be that I went to see bands all the time ... The Replacements being my favorite of all of them. Man, I loved the 'Mats. Loved 'em. Dug that reckless abandon. And I still say that Paul W. is one of the best poets ever. I think my favorite solo Paul song is "Things" on 14 Songs. But despite their hard-rockin' rep, I mostly dug their pop sensibility. Cuz down deep I'm a pop girl. I loves my pop. I'm actually drinking pop right now. That's why I love Wilco, even if Jeff Tweedy doesn't like doing it. And I'm unabashed. I still go to Soul Asylum shows, well, at least I did before Mia. Like a couple of summers ago when they'd play at summer festivals. And they'd really rock. "Closer to the Stars" Sure, it'd be rock n' roll, but pop rock. And a few years ago, I was lucky enough to see Big Star play. I've seen Alex Chilton play zillions of times, but never with Big Star. Now that was pure pop for now people. It was power poop pop and I loved it.

But these days I forget to put on CDs. I always head for my books, my magazines, my baby, the phone, even the TV before I put on a CD. In the car, I put on NPR. But it's time for revolt. Back to the lab. Music my friend, it soothes the savage beast. Or breast? Is it breast? I think it's beast. Oh well. I'm making a vow. Music, my friends, music will fill the air!