I’ve been sick a full week now. Last night, little boy Bones wanted to crawl into my bed but I am so worried he’ll get this, I had to say no, and carried him back to his bed and tucked him back in. The nights are like torture, trying to breathe and not choke and dry hacking and blowing my nose. Once I wake up and have an enormous pot of coffee, I feel slightly better but still not anywhere close to normal. How I’m going to run this race on Thanksgiving day, I don’t know. My lungs are telling me running is out for now, unless I want to just stop and cough up phlegm every once and a while, and I don’t have the energy anyway. So any sort of prep for it has gone completely out the window. I just hope it won’t be 20 and icy.
I had to get some things done this morning, sick or not. I finally folded the laundry late last night and put that away, who knows how many days after I actually did it. And this morning I made me and D a big breakfast, which I ate even though I can’t really taste anything and nothing appeals, as I know I need the energy from the food. Then cleaned the kitchen, which really needed done badly, including mopping the disgusting floor and wiping down the fronts of all the appliances, which, with a little boy at home, look like something from a horror film most of the time. And stopping to hack up phlegm into the sink every few minutes. And finally scrubbing off all the little pumpkin stickers D put on the patio window. Good times.
When I was bagging up the recycling that we have to drive several miles away to recycle, D had a melt down when I told him we are not keeping every single bit of work he does at school, only some of the occasional art projects. I’m proud of your work, absolutely, I told him, and that’s why we sit down and look at it every night. But I showed him how tall the stack of papers is from only a couple of weeks – they bring home on average of at least five pieces of paper a day, sometimes more, and said inside a month, the entire apartment would be filled with papers if we kept everything, and he has many more years of school ahead of him, we simply can’t keep everything. He pouted and then got over it, sorting through things and agreeing to part with most of it. And he cleaned his room as I asked him to do, and did a really good job of it, and vacuumed the bathroom floor with the little hand vac, which is his regular chore every week. Now I have to have more coffee as there are so many errands. I JUST bought him a new pair of gloves and he already lost one of them yesterday. I can see I’m going to have to buy like 9 billion pairs of gloves so I need to go out and get some more of those. And I need a few groceries, though I can’t afford too much if I have to buy shit like gloves and a haircut for myself, somewhere, sometime tomorrow. And I have to start trying to buy a couple of things for D for Xmas, so I should get on that as well.
I haven’t cooked much of anything all week and all the leftovers from last week are either too old to eat or are gone. I cooked too much once again, and had to throw food out, which makes me pretty angry. Adjusting down what I need to cook is tough. When D is here, I want to make sure we have something to reheat for dinner every night, and I have to have food for his breakfasts and lunches that I pack. But on weeks when he isn’t here, I just feel like, oh, I’ll just eat a can of beans or fry an egg or something so I don’t cook anything, and then I don’t want that when it comes time for dinner, so I don’t eat anything. Hi, depression.
Things could be worse, always. Things could also be better.