O the Energy of Fleghm
Whoops, here I go complaining. It’s true though, that a certain volume of snotty stuff keeps you on your toes. You hafta cough, clear, swallow, wake, rise, drink- to stay ahead of the stuff.
As my inner mucous finally lets up a little, I’m taking on brick-like qualities. Waking up today was more offensive than usual. I took three solid swipes at it, and feel unsure even now if the final try will take.
i wanna sleep.
Ever heard the words, ‘roll with the punches’? What the hell does that mean? It makes me think of Cardammom buns floating in a fruit-punch nightmare.
That’s an aside.
I don’t know what’s happening in the nation. I don’t know about the last debates, or what crazy thing Palin last said, or if Wall Street ended up or down this week. Mucous energy is an apathetic life source. It only gets excited about really good tea.
Girly-girl is home in one piece. They came home late-late. I couldn’t figure out if she had a grand time or not. She had the glassy-eyed exhaustion thing going on. Someone hid her gameboy, and I couldn’t figure out if this was a prank or a tease done in companionable good nature. The other kid gave it back. I hate those moments of irresoluteness in parenthood, standing beside the bus, not sure if a situation warrants you should kick down doors or laugh it off. I could just find the perpetrator and breathe on her right now-
but I took Sierra home and fed her. She seems fine. Cranky. Overly tall. I guess the world isn’t ending.
I’ve passed her into the hands of grandparents today with some story about chores and errands. It’s not impossible that I’ll do something, but right now I want to curl up in a diseased little ball and sleep off the blechiness of the last few days. Or weeks.