It’s tedious to have to be me all the time. I can’t get away from myself. The only thoughts I manage to come up with are my thoughts. Same old crap, day after day. Even looking at what I just wrote is boring. I would just like to wake up one day with something fresh percolating up in my pudding filled head. The best thing, other than, of course, my sweet and crazed daughters, is the surprise visits from Camera Morte. I never know when it will rear its beautiful and other-worldly digital photo head.
Speaking of heads, mine hurts. The cold part of whatever ripped through our household’s health this past week seems to be dissipating, but the almost aftermath is still full of pain and discomfort. Mimi and Beenie seem to have endless energy and appetites alongside the endless mucosa dripping and exploding from their tiny nostrils. They are being very patient considering I wipe their noses of the light greenish goo every few minutes.
I visited an old friend last night. That’s right, Mr. Cough Medicine. Weird that he’s a mister, eh? Not sure why that is. I was feeling a little bit like death. My head was aching, my throat hurt. Not a happy mama. So I took a trip to the medicine cabinet upstairs and saw him in the darkness, behind a box of pseudo-ephedrine and some travel sized soaps. Hello friend! Howsabout you help a sister out? One teaspoon later, my hubby and I were sitting on the couch, enjoying a rarely quiet evening with the girls sleeping at their bedtime. Yeah! We are re-watching Battlestar Galactica 2.5 in preparation for the impending season 3 we just received from Netflix. Is there anything sexier than a CYLON? Maybe it was my cough medicine, but I haven’t enjoyed watching the boob tube this much in months.