Recuperating...

I've reached that point of being ALMOSTTOTALLYCOMPLETELYBETTER(BUTNOTQUITE) where you feel mostly fine, but for a couple symptoms, and are tired and really irritable.

I have six doses of eye drops left. Bruise and Bucket had all theirs. And Michael never caught our case of pink eye. Glory be.

I can breathe through my nose, have a slight twinge when I swallow, still am coughing a bit, and don't have my voice totally back. (But it's back enough that both Mom and Michael have remarked today how much better I sound. ... Since I don't sound like death, you know.)

Bruise came and woke me up this morning to ask permission to play the Nintendo DS.
Bucket came in to inform me that she NEEDED HELP to play a movie. I told her to change the channel on the VCR and put in a disc. (SHE KNOWS THIS.)

And then she came in, completely frustrated to tears, FOUR or FIVE MORE TIMES.

So, tired of being woken up over and over, I told her that maybe she was too tired to watch a movie and to go back to bed. And then she sobbed loudly enough to keep me awake. So I threatened her with a cold shower. She calmed down.

Michael came down with another case of the flu yesterday. As he bundled up on the couch, I plaintively whined, "You can't get sick. If you get sick, who'll take care of MEEEEEEEEEEE??????"
He laughed.

It wasn't a joke.

But I sucked it up, put on my big girl panties, and remembered that I had that blessing on Tuesday.
And I unloaded and reloaded the dishwasher. Then I did a load of laundry ... and threw all the dry clothes on the couch.

And I've been a mean, sucky, evil mother from HELL ... making the kids pick up all their messes.
Because, really, Michael and I didn't make all those messes. It's not fair to us to make us clean them all up.
OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER, AD NAUSEAM. (Or ad insaniam, to be completely honest.)

In short, I'm feeling better. Better enough to be a prickly mess of irritation. But not QUITE better enough to completely clean my house (a major point of the irritation). I mean, the dishes are ALMOST done. The laundry is MOSTLY clean. There's just enough clutter that it robs me of the will to live.

On the bright side, I watched Airplane! last night. It was funny.
Funnier still, was my poor, sick husband in bed next to me, waking up just enough to quote along to certain parts.

After the movie, I still wasn't really tired. So I read a book. (Ice by Sarah Beth Durst, if you wondered ... and it's just as good as her other books. And it made me miss being pregnant.) That kept me up until about midnight. It was good enough to make me lose track of time. ... And then I still wasn't sleepy enough to fall asleep. And it was doing NO GOOD, just laying there in the dark. So I got up and took a swig of NyQuil. Which worked. Thank goodness.

Something else annoying -- while Michael was sick a couple weeks ago, he dropped a few pounds.
I've barely been eating, since I haven't felt like it.
NO WEIGHT LOSS FOR GRETCHEN WIENERS.
(Yes, obligatory Mean Girls reference. No apologies.)

Yeah, whatever. Since I can't seem to lose weight for trying, I'm not going to feel guilty about eating bunches of Halloween candy. ... WHAT?

But, yeah. That's where it is. I'm mostly better. In time for Michael to get sick. I'm FORCING my poor children to clean up. And I'm never going to be a size 6 ... but, you know, I've never been a size 6. Once the boobs came in, I had to be a size 8.
Then, somehow, after getting married, I just kept growing. Just more of me to love ... or some such sentiment, right?

I'm not supposed to be this angsty. My cycle is done.

I should go paint my nails or something.

And, you know, if I'm going to ACT this emo in my blog, I need to invest in tons of black eyeliner.
But since I'm still taking those eye drops, I won't.

*sigh*