Saturday, August 10, 2002

I am pretty sure my mother had six children.

I have been sick as a dog all week. I am sure one of my ex friends gave it to me. I hate being sick.

Tuesday, Day 1:

I get to work after a nice long weekend, and I am nauseous. The boss sends me home.

Wednesday, Day 2:

The first real day of the flu. It was that cough. You know the one, you can feel it coming and you know that if you let it, it will never stop. It saps all your energy from you. And you want to die. I was up all night. I make it till around 1:30pm then head home. The boss is already complaining about the half day yesterday. Even though the power went off just as I was leaving and didn�t come back on until the evening. So I couldn�t have done any work anyway.

Thursday, Day 3:

The coughing isn�t so violent, but it is constant. My head feels like it will explode and my ribs hurt from the impact.

Dave is here today working on the bike. I go upstairs, in a daze, to nuke my coffee and as I walk by the counter I knock something off and it crashes behind me. I let out a �HOLY FUCK� (it scared the shit out of me) and Dave comes flying up the stairs, �Are you alright?� In my weakened state this strikes me as hilarious and I can no longer breathe I am laughing so hard. I play the damsel in distress, (back of my hand pressed dramatically across my forehead), �My hero!� segue into racking coughs.

I make it through until lunch, then have to go home. Before I leave today, I tell the boys not to use any of the spoons, since I will be licking them all before I leave, and possibly the rims of all the glasses. These special gift I reserve for the boss alone. You would be safer if you drank from the toilette.

I head over to my sisters to pick up the papers for my new car. (I am not too sick to get my car squared away)

Friday, Day 4:

I am exhausted. No sleep, I feel like I have been hit by a truck. I can�t concentrate so I have to �fake� working. The boss leaves for parts unknown, making this easier. I muddle through until 4. Take home my crappy paycheck and collapse on the couch. I look like death warmed over, I am laying on my face, I don�t have the energy to roll over so I can breathe properly.

My mother looks at me and says, �So, do you want to take me to the funeral home tonight or the funeral tomorrow?� (someone she knows has died, she is 73, so every week there is a good chance that one of her friends bought the farm) When you are an old lady, that is your social life, attending funerals.

�Mom, you DO realize that you had six children, right?�

�If you can�t take me, that�s all right.� She gives me that "you'll be sorry when I'm dead" look.

She won�t ask any of the others, because she is tired of being disappointed when they can�t seem to make it. On the other hand she has no problem asking me when I am on my deathbed.

I know my mother had six children, I have seen the pictures. But ask them to do anything, and they are nowhere to be found.

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