The World Does Not Stop When You're Sick

My earliest recollection of being sick includes my mom. She had something, I don't remember what. She gave it to me. I think mine morphed into tonsillitis. I have dim memories of the two of us lying in bed and dad bringing us tuna fish sandwiches because that's all she felt like eating. Neither my dad nor my brother got whatever we had. I remember a vaporizer and lots of Vick's Vapor Rub.

This past week has been a week defined by a cold. Vick's Vapor Rub is still a mainstay in my medicine chest, its soothing vapors helping me sleep at night. The Zicam test failed. By Monday, I was about as sick as I would be through this episode. At least for me, Zicam doesn't work. I still have half a bottle of cherry-flavored lozenges so, if I feel another cold coming on, I'll use them up, but it's not something I'll go out of my way to buy again.

My house is a wreck. I'm not the cleanest of people nor the most organized. I live by the adage, "Clean enough to be healthy. Dirty enough to be happy." But my inability to even pick up after myself over the weekend now has me irritated. The kitchen managed to get cleaned on Sunday, in between naps. I managed to do a couple loads of wash mainly because I was out of pants. Otherwise, and if you've ever been sick, you know this feeling, my body told me to sleep.

I've spent a lot of time sleeping in the recliner. I can sleep there for about 2-3 hours and then I have to go to bed. When your head is completely stuffed up and you're not breathing through your nose, sleeping somewhat upright, which the recliner affords, does net you some good hours of non-coughing sleep. Perhaps I could sleep there longer but my knees start to complain and I have to go lie down flat.

I've not answered the phone. I've not answered the mail. I've not really done anything and this morning, getting ready for work, it bothered me. There is the pile of dirty clothes in the bathroom. There is the stack of dirty dishes on the counter. There is the pile of mail, brought in but not sorted, on the living room table. Pilchard is 'yelling' at me because the litter boxes aren't clean. Sunday's clean dishes still sit in the dish rack. I haven't put them away. I tell myself it doesn't really matter. What matters is getting better and my body told me by making me fall asleep, that I needed to care for it rather than the stuff that goes with living.

I am better today. My doctor believes I have turned the corner on this and will be whole by Thanksgiving. I look around the house and see all this stuff I want to/need to do. I also realize that jumping in with both feet will leave me exhausted and prone to catching something else. So, in my head, as I was drifting off to sleep last night, I have divided up the tasks. "Saturday morning, you'll do this first. When that is done, rest. Then do this. Rest." It does feel, however, a bit like Alice in Wonderland. "I give myself good advice, but I very seldom take it." Time to listen to that inner voice.

Beverage:  Earl Grey tea

Deb

Word of the day

At first glance, it would seem this word is a classic example of doublespeak. You all know doublespeak. It's inescapable. We don't lie, we use "categorical inaccuracies". Someone isn't fired, they enter "voluntary severance" or are "downsized". My favorite is "pre-owned".

When I ripped off Monday's word and came upon the above as Tuesday's word of the day, I was rather taken aback. I count on my Word-a-Day calendar to expand my language. Indeed, it has given me my favorite word, "obnubilate". I felt this word was tasteless and encouraged the obfuscation of statement rather than clarity.

But then I got to thinking. "Bromance", "Chillax" and "Wardrobe Malfunction" have been added to the Merriam Webster dictionary this year. (1. A close relationship between two men; 2. A word used to ask someone to calm down and relax; 3. The exposing of an intimate part of the body due to the failure of an article of clothing. You're welcome.) The English language is hugely flexible, embracing words of all types. That's what makes it so ubiquitous and the choice for communication. Our language's pliability makes it ideally suited for new words or the mashing together of old words to become a new one.

While I will continually advocate for clear and concise speech, "disremember" has a place in the lexicon. I doubt it's going to be hugely popular until some comedian or politician uses it. It sounds like a willful act. Perhaps it's all in the context as so much communication is. "I disremembered my pants" sounds more plausible than "I disremember what happened on the night of July 18th".

I am reminded of a quote from Alice in Wonderland.

"When I use a word," Humpty Dumpty said in a rather scornful tone, "it means what I choose it to mean - nor more nor less."

Beverage: China Black tea

Deb

Whoooooo Are You?

'Tis a line from Lewis Carroll's "Alice's Adventures in Wonderland". The caterpillar asks it of Alice and she bursts into tears trying to figure out the answer given the world in which she finds herself. I decided I best answer the question myself so, when you stumble upon this little blog, you can figure out if you really want to continue reading. There's a "gadget" I can add where I can profile myself, but it's the stuff you only give out to get coupons or to census takers. It doesn't really answer the "Who are you?" question.
Middle-aged and totally gray, is a good start. I have cats. I drink tea, duh. I also drink Dr. Pepper and hot cocoa and Scottish beers.
I own a house and have a wonderful daughter whom I am very proud of.
I have a B.A. in English (as she is spoke, and extra credit if you know from what I lifted that) with a minor in Art. I wanted a minor in Art History, but my college lacked 3 courses to offer that.
My favorite color is royal blue and my favorite flower is the lilac. I grew up on a farm in Northeast Iowa and, around Memorial Day, the lilacs below my bedroom window would bloom. I would fall asleep in the window to that wonderfully heady smell.
I have lived in Chicagoland since 1981, which is the longest I have lived anywhere. But, I have come to realize that "going home" will always mean going back to Iowa.
I am a chocoholic and I love classic jazz. My favorite song is "April in Paris" as sung by Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong on the Blue Note release, "Ella and Louis Together". (Last cut, too, by the way.)
I currently read Terry Pratchett's "Discworld" books. I have a long way to go. He's written something like 30+ and I've read, maybe 8 or 9 of them. "Thud" is the current book.
My father's family was from Scotland, Dysart, to be exact. We are "Thomson" over there but the "p" was added in the 1830's. We don't know why. I belong to the Clan Thompson Society and run the clan tent at the Illinois St. Andrew Society's Highland Games in June. My mother's family was Czech and German and we are less certain from where they emmigrated.
I tend to have a warped sense of humor, a fact you will see upon these pages, the more I add to them.
There's more to who I am, but this is a start. My cup of tea is empty which is a signal that perhaps I should be going to bed. I've had a cold for a week and it doesn't get better if I stay up late.

Deb