How I know

I felt wonderful this morning, upbeat, happy, uplifted, healthy. I got into work and it was all sucked from me. I feel heavy, down, depressed. I absolutely have to find something else to do with my life. It is so obvious this is the wrong place for me.

A Day Just For Me

Friday I felt under the weather, thought I had caught a tad bit of the hubband's ick. It seemed like a very good idea (even though I was symptom free) to take this quiet and unassuming Monday off. I need my rest. I need some me time to fully recuperate. As my alarm went off, and even though I was wide awake, I decided to stay in bed and have a day to myself. Ah, the thought of it! No cooking for anyone but me and only when I get hungry. No answering questions, no commitments, no obligations. No one hogging the television.

Then, approximately twenty minutes after my grand decision, the hubband's alarm goes off. I tell him my plan and he agrees. "That's a wonderful idea!" he chortles. I sigh and continue my quiet and pleasant reverie. I know I have about an hour before Mr. Crash wants his breakfast and I plan to not move an inch until he makes me. At approximately six Crash wants breakfast. I get out of bed, stretch, scratch my belly, scratch Crash's back and head downstairs to make coffee and feed him. The hubband approaches me with, "Look at my eye." EGAD MAN! His eye was a puffy, swollen mess that was completely blood read. It looked painful. It looked hot. It kept tearing, big wet rivulets of water running down his right cheek. Ugh.

My first thought took me to a couple of situations that occurred yesterday. First, he gets a wee bit of sawdust in his eye. No biggie, right? He washes it out and no problem. Secondly, he is eating Kettle brand Jalapeño chips and proceeds to wipe the very same eye with a finger covered in the salt from the bottom of the bag. OK, still no biggie, it burns but he flushes his eye and he is good as gold. And now, this. I cannot help think the worst; he has scratched his cornea. We cannot get him an appointment with family practice, it's full. They suggest an appointment tomorrow OR the emergency room. He opts for waiting it out. After all, he flushed his eye, took two aspirin and was feeling better. I pat him on the back and tell him I am going to start "my" day and head for the bed where I stay until eleven.

I prepare my lunch and sit with him while he plays Assassin's Creed (see what I mean about hogging the television?). At this point, his eye is irritated. He is uncomfortable but tolerating it. In fact, I would even go so far as to say he was ignoring it. I start prompting him that even though he seems to be tolerating his eye well we cannot be sure that it is not scratched. I insisted he eat and get himself to the E.R. to have it checked. I WAS truly concerned about his eye, his vision, infection, scarring. I certainly was not trying to get rid of him so I could watch a couple episodes of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. C'mon, you absolutely know I would be pacing the floor until his return.

Then he ate lunch and with his three sonic sneezes the whole situation tumbled straight down hill. He could no longer tolerate light. He could not see. His right eye felt like he had been punched. It was up to me to get him to the E.R. ~sighs~ Buffy can wait. He NEEDS me. I showered as fast as humanly possible (for me), got myself dressed and ready. He takes my sunglasses, pulls a baseball cap low over his eyes and we head to Gricignano to the hospital. The sunlight caused him agonizing pain. He absolutely looked like a thug trying to be inconspicuous.

Fast forward four hours later: We are home. Bill has conjunctivitis in his right eye and it has started infecting the left. He now knows what it is like to be a vampire bat because he, like the bat, is most comfortable in the dark. He is in front of the TV now and I am up here wondering when I will have the chance at another ME day that will really be only for me.

Google yourself

Well, I have googled myself, Renee Ross. Why is it when I google my name only porn stars come up???

What? A Klingon?

I awoke this morning to discover my face had a new shape. Yep. A new shape. I had four distinct, and rather deep, ridges across the bridge of my nose. Just call me Mrs. Klingon. I am interested to know how I was sleeping to make that happen: face smooshed in the pillow...pillow smooshed on the face (BILL!)...sheets balled up and face smooshed in? It is a conundrum.

Just whining OR do I have a point?

Know what really bugs me, gets my goat, messes with my sense and sensibilities? When a person has a beautiful blog that is frequented by a lot of traffic but doesn't take the time to proofread what he/she is putting out there so it is filled with the wrong word in key phrases (using all where old should have been -I blew a whistle at five months all), misspellings, poor grammar, sentences that make no sense. Now, I know I have made mistakes on my blog, using site for sight and other such things, but I don't have thirty errors in one blog. I try to be as correct as I know how to be. Heck, spell check corrects a lot of my errors! And the really sad thing is I have noticed that this sloppy blogging is the norm, not the exception. What's going on?

Strang, yet very cool, sensation

It was a very frigid 1ºC (33ºF) when I drove in this morning. There was ice on the edges of a puddles I passed. Even bundled in my dusty rose bouclé sweater, my Northface winter parka, complete with fleece liner, and with the heat on I was shivering in my car. Brrr. As I approached the second overpass before my exit I noticed the air was a shimmery black from a fire burning on the side of the road. The smoke covered the road, both directions, but there was still ample visibility. I entered the cloud and suddenly I felt warm, like someone had wrapped a big thick down blanket around me. It was comforting. I was warm. The feeling only stuck with me for about one quarter of a mile. Then I was chilled again.

Busy

"We’re all pros now at hailing a cab/pushing a grocery cart/operating a forklift with a to-go cup in hand. We’re skittering about like hyperactive gerbils, high not just on caffeine but on caffeine’s luscious by-product, productivity. Ah, the joy of doing, accomplishing, crossing off." ~Encyclopedia of an Ordinary life (Amy Krouse Rosenthal)

I just really like how she describes our culture. Having lived in Italy, I can see clearly how different we are from Italians. The things that drive us definitely do not drive them.