She's Not Dead Yet
Contrary to popular belief (and probably a few wishes), I am not dead yet.
Great, now I have the song from "Spamalot" stuck in my head. "Oh, she's not dead yet!" The bronchitis decided to move into my sinuses, so lots of headaches and just plain "owie" feeling. And I'm just going to start saying 99.8 is my 'normal' temp. Though it usually is 96.-97.2 (Yes, I'm below average in so many ways.)
The fic-o-doom, aka my HGSS Exchange story, is completed, beta-read by an anonymous beta (who gets kisses galore when I can announce her) and uploaded. It was pretty paralyzing for me to write to just one person, which is how I kept looking at it, though I tried not to. My stories, the ones I write for the 'halibut', are written for me. I'm so happy and grateful and touched that people like them, but I'm writing the story for myself basically. I'm trying to get this damn story out of my head so I can go onto a normal life do something else. But I kept thinking, 'What if she hates it? What if she really hates it?' That's like the time I slipped and said something about 'no Santa Claus' in front of my neighbor's daughter. Luckily, she's ten and already knew. *whew* People don't forgive you for telling their kids there isn't a Santa or ruining their exchange with a bad story.
You know how people always tell you cute stories about their kids? Does it matter if the 'kid' is in her second childhood? I've got some "Mom" stories...
The doctor has suggested she use a walker. C'mon, she's had three bad falls and her hip is nervous. She's fighting the suggestion tooth and nail. Why? "Walkers are clumsy!" She doesn't understand why I laughed at that statement.
While planning our week, Mom mentioned she won't go grocery shopping with me on Wednesdays. That really makes me happy because she'll send me looking for something six aisles back... repeatedly. But why won't she go? "That's Old People's Day! And I don't want to be in a store of rude old people who wander off and leave their carts in the middle of the aisle and want to chat with you about stupid things and are just nasty, slow, grumpy and forgetful!" David and I both pointed out that some of these 'Old People' are young enough to be her children. Luckily, she's slow when she's grumpy. :-D
Finally, the time not spent doing things or holding a warm, moist compress to my face, has been spent with the television. Curled up in a fetal position on the couch is about all I can manage (I started writing this entry Sunday night and am now finishing it up). Usually, I watch documentaries or sit-coms, but lately, I've been tuning into the BBC-America. Mom was delighted to find "The Avengers" was on, though she was surprised to find out it was a British show as she watched it before on American TV, but that's another story. We were watching "Are You Being Served?" and Mom kept asking me "What did s/he say?" Finally, exasperated, she said, "It'd be easier if they spoke Engl... nevermind." I think we all know she meant she didn't understand the broader accents, but it was so funny.
82 is such a cute age if you can ignore the stubborness and insistance they get their own way all the time.
Finally, if anyone wants a Christmas card from Lovely Louisville, Kentucky, e-mail me your address. larileehah (at) gmail.com. Though I should warn you, it'll probably have a typed address sticker on front, but still packed full of holiday wishes. And the Politically Correct disclaimer: I value all people's religious beliefs and, by sending out specific Christmas cards, I don't mean any slight to any other holiday. May everyone have a Merry Whatever! Because the real gift of the holiday season is family and friends and love and the Day-After-Christmas sales.
I'm forgetting something... if I remember, I'll update next time I'm back on-line. Three chapters to proofread tonight before people come to my house hunting me...
Great, now I have the song from "Spamalot" stuck in my head. "Oh, she's not dead yet!" The bronchitis decided to move into my sinuses, so lots of headaches and just plain "owie" feeling. And I'm just going to start saying 99.8 is my 'normal' temp. Though it usually is 96.-97.2 (Yes, I'm below average in so many ways.)
The fic-o-doom, aka my HGSS Exchange story, is completed, beta-read by an anonymous beta (who gets kisses galore when I can announce her) and uploaded. It was pretty paralyzing for me to write to just one person, which is how I kept looking at it, though I tried not to. My stories, the ones I write for the 'halibut', are written for me. I'm so happy and grateful and touched that people like them, but I'm writing the story for myself basically. I'm trying to get this damn story out of my head so I can go onto a normal life do something else. But I kept thinking, 'What if she hates it? What if she really hates it?' That's like the time I slipped and said something about 'no Santa Claus' in front of my neighbor's daughter. Luckily, she's ten and already knew. *whew* People don't forgive you for telling their kids there isn't a Santa or ruining their exchange with a bad story.
You know how people always tell you cute stories about their kids? Does it matter if the 'kid' is in her second childhood? I've got some "Mom" stories...
The doctor has suggested she use a walker. C'mon, she's had three bad falls and her hip is nervous. She's fighting the suggestion tooth and nail. Why? "Walkers are clumsy!" She doesn't understand why I laughed at that statement.
While planning our week, Mom mentioned she won't go grocery shopping with me on Wednesdays. That really makes me happy because she'll send me looking for something six aisles back... repeatedly. But why won't she go? "That's Old People's Day! And I don't want to be in a store of rude old people who wander off and leave their carts in the middle of the aisle and want to chat with you about stupid things and are just nasty, slow, grumpy and forgetful!" David and I both pointed out that some of these 'Old People' are young enough to be her children. Luckily, she's slow when she's grumpy. :-D
Finally, the time not spent doing things or holding a warm, moist compress to my face, has been spent with the television. Curled up in a fetal position on the couch is about all I can manage (I started writing this entry Sunday night and am now finishing it up). Usually, I watch documentaries or sit-coms, but lately, I've been tuning into the BBC-America. Mom was delighted to find "The Avengers" was on, though she was surprised to find out it was a British show as she watched it before on American TV, but that's another story. We were watching "Are You Being Served?" and Mom kept asking me "What did s/he say?" Finally, exasperated, she said, "It'd be easier if they spoke Engl... nevermind." I think we all know she meant she didn't understand the broader accents, but it was so funny.
82 is such a cute age if you can ignore the stubborness and insistance they get their own way all the time.
Finally, if anyone wants a Christmas card from Lovely Louisville, Kentucky, e-mail me your address. larileehah (at) gmail.com. Though I should warn you, it'll probably have a typed address sticker on front, but still packed full of holiday wishes. And the Politically Correct disclaimer: I value all people's religious beliefs and, by sending out specific Christmas cards, I don't mean any slight to any other holiday. May everyone have a Merry Whatever! Because the real gift of the holiday season is family and friends and love and the Day-After-Christmas sales.
I'm forgetting something... if I remember, I'll update next time I'm back on-line. Three chapters to proofread tonight before people come to my house hunting me...