Ropey Strings of Snot Notwithstanding

So it’s been a crazy few weeks, starting off with the Best Vacation Ever in that I got to see for myself what I needed to see for myself (Woo to the everlasting HOO!!!) … then escaping catching what appeared to be a horrendous communicable disease (and not the fun kind) from my seatmate on the first leg of my flight back to misery … then catching up on a week’s worth of work, plus current duties, in three days (three days!) because I am that awesome. Yep. Just ask me.

Only to catch the freaking plague last Friday, since half the skeleton crew who decided to show up for work that day came bearing the gift of germ. By 3pm my nose was running non-stop, in that way it does with infants who have a cold and don’t yet know how to blow so the ick just runs down their faces and off their chins in ropey strings of baby-snot. Not that I let it get so far as the ropey strings of snot, but only through proactive tissue-stuffing. Up my right nostril. Which was somehow simultaneously running non-stop and too stuffed to allow airflow of any kind in any direction.

I know! Weird.

So Saturday, Sunday, and Monday were the worst; horrible days of OMGoodness-I-Can’t BREATHE, and WHY-won’t-my-NOSE-work, and my-HEAD-is-exPLODing, and the running of low-grade fever. And tissues stuffed up both nostrils that were leaking non-stop. And sleeping in three minute intervals, only to wake enough to roll over so my sinuses could drain from one side to the other to constantly clear and then block right back up again. All. Night. Long. And DREAMING of when this, this … thing … would move from my head down into my chest (I can handle a cough ever so much better than an every-orifice-on-my-noggin-streaming-some-kind-of-liquid). And “I want my Mommy!” And GAH! Just plain GAH!

Then Tuesday was a not-quite-so-bad day of mucus transition from head to chest, heralding a week of phlegmy coughing, then Wednesday: back to work, playing catch-up again, for the second week in a row. Followed by Thursday, when I made a 633 million dollar error … yes, six hundred thirty three million dollars … to the delight of all (it was in our favor … so, new cars for everyone!), which I discovered Friday morning. And when I demanded to know why no-one had told me the day before (when they all noticed it), that created a gale of laughter, a veritable windstorm of mirth. Boogarheadedjerkfaces.

So now I’m starting my second weekend of recovery, and since this plague has moved to my chest, although I sound like I’m one step from pneumonia-with-a-bronchitis chaser, I’m actually feeling loads better. So well, in fact, that I’m currently reading two books at once. Because THAT’S HOW I ROLL, people. If by ‘roll’ I mean too lazy to go to other room, where the book I’m reading is, so I’ll just start this new book here, because it’s right here. In THIS room. Inches away from my grasping hands.

Sigh. I have laundry to do (lots!), and cleaning to accomplish, and errands to run. But I know none of that will be done today. No use even pretending. Today? Today I’m not leaving this house. I may not shower. I certainly won’t get dressed. I know, I know, “Too much information, Lisa!”

And check this out … Aetna just called me. To set up my next Humira delivery. I love that they do that. I always forget until 3 minutes after they’ve closed for the day (7pm, Eastern), which makes me cuh-razy. Of course, it is the combination of Humira and methotrexate that turn the silly little cold I catch from the average joe into the plague I end up fighting off … but I can’t function without them, so there you have it, ropey strings of snot notwithstanding.

As you can see, my 2010 plan to blog daily lasted all of January (thank goodness I had Wicked Awesome Poem Wednesday to give me a break every six days!), and has now fallen by the wayside. It’s too much work, people; I simply haven’t got it in me. So I’m back to sharing when I have something that interests me (and, with any luck, you).

Like a few days ago, when Maddie accidentally flung herself headlong into the toilet (the lid was up, and her depth perception is pretty much nonexistent), then scrambled to escape her watery prison, and I collapsed in laughter so hard, I had to hold onto the counter for dear life. Or, you know, to not fall down. Poor Mads! Her dignity certainly took a hit on that one.