spring break blues

I got the chicken pox when I was in seventh grade. One week before spring break, which meant that I was still sick when the break came. I was sick on fall break a lot, too. I remember missing Thanksgiving because of it. More than one teacher made note of the fact that I was more likely to miss a break than a school day due to illness, which they seemed to think was a good thing. I beg to differ.

It seems that now that I’m grown, I still need to be sick when school is out. Gabe’s spring break equals a cold for me. Stuffy headache, sore throat, dirty dishes in the kitchen and frozen waffles for breakfast.

But Gabe is on the couch watching one of his Baby Einstein movies and not complaining at all that I haven’t taken him to the park the way we planned. He’s turned the living room into a jungle, complete with drawings of animals stuck by Scotch tape to the ceiling, which I had to hang by standing on the back of the couch. If you sneeze while balancing on the narrow back of a couch, you will fall, just so you know. You’ve been warned. Also, even the most comfy, overstuffed furniture has somewhere inside it a frame that is neither soft nor pleasant to land on.

I woke up at two this morning and ended up on my computer waiting for the expectorant to kick in so I could blow my nose. I started reading book two of Carousel, which it turns out needs more revision than I thought it did. Funny what a break to write an entirely different novel will do to freshen up your perspective. I had somehow managed to forget a large amount of the story, and I got to read it almost the way anyone else would. There were some good lines in there, but mostly it was just the framework for what I hope to write in the future. Raw and ugly, but moving in the right direction.

On a day like today, when nothing tastes good or feels good and my sense of smell is just a fond memory, I think I should not write at all. So of course I want to. My fingers itch. As I read, they try to type out a story the way Phill’s fingers play guitar chords on his steering wheel when he listens to one of the songs he plays.

It’s day six of the wait, by the way, and I should probably be grateful that I’m too drowsy to get terribly worked up about it.  Gabe is keeping me busy spelling things so that he can write them down, which I watch him do with absolute admiration. He doesn’t write letters, in my opinion. He draws them. You’d have to see him doing it to understand. Today’s topic…mummy king.

The only picture I’ve ever taken with my webcam. Why do need webcams, exactly?

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~ by Rachel McMahon on March 15, 2011.

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