Thursday, November 20, 2008

#347 why you should never marry a writer.

i've been battling what is fast becoming a reoccurring sinus problem. the big ol' cavities deep inside my head. nothing can touch them.

pain pain pain all day, and then at night i wait for the clock to hit the right time then the sweet relief of nyquil.

so anyhow, as you can imagine, i've been a bit down for the count.

thursdays the boybarians have art class. and considering the last time anyone saw me last night i was on my way to an early bedtime, i guess the lord of the ring assumed i wouldn't be able to take them.

but, i knew that the lord of the ring was up until 2 am trying to devise a way to keep this big boat afloat in the choppy sea of the economy and was in no shape himself to take them.

so i went in the bathroom and made myself get fully ready. just because it made me feel a little better but mostly in case i ran into anyone i knew out in the great big world.

i was finished and only needed my shoes and my glasses.

so i walked into the back room and explained to the lord of the ring that i might not hang out and write at the coffee shop while i wait for the boybarians to finish and may not do errands either. which are the two things i do while they are in class. that i was feeling poorly enough to waste the gas and effort and come home and then go back later to get them.

"do you want me to take them?"

"no, you're still in your pajamas and besides, i took the time and i'm already all ready to go."

he takes a good look at me and says somewhat incredulously

"oh. you are?"

aannnnddd thank you for that, husband.

and what i'm sure he meant, giving him the benefit of the doubt, is that i didn't have shoes, glasses, or a jacket. that i wasn't fully ready.

but it sounds better in my muddled brain sinus cavity filled up with muck head the way i tell it.

and that folks is #347 why you should never marry a writer.

because they will never make you look better than you actually are.


unless you die then they'll get all weepy and poetic over you and make shit up and embellish the truth so everyone is all weepy and crying over you, too. but that's it! death! in life, while you are living here right in front of them all bets are off and they will never make you look better than you actually are.

because it's just not funny.

and neither is it funny not being able to move my head up or down or side to side without a burst of pain.

yeah, that's not funny either.


but, i have roughly 4 hours and 23 minutes, give or take a few, before i get to have my nyquil. and then none of this will matter for about 6 hours and 47 minutes until a cat a kid or a snoring husband disturbs my sleep.

but it's 6 hours and 47 minutes that i will be pain free.

modern "medicine." i don't care that they call it medicine and it's really just a symptom reliever. i don't care that they lie to me in the ads and commercials and on the bottle.

i just care that the little plastic cup gets filled with the gooey red liquid and the head pain goes away, not because it "actually" goes away, but because you "actually" just pass out.

you gotta love it.


No comments: