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Archive for the ‘woops’ Category

You Don’t Have to Kiss Me

It’s De-Lurker Day!  Apparently.  I’m always the last to know about these kinds of things.

Mainly because I’m lazy, and have a terrible short term memory.

You’re supposed to give me some love and make me feel wonderful about myself, but you don’t have to kiss me, buy me dinner or sleep with me later.  Aren’t you lucky?

In honor of Delurker Day, I’ll tell you an odd detail about myself…

I used to believe I was a cat in a former life.  I had a list of reasons why, and everything.

So, if you’ve been lurking around here, or even if you’ve just found my site, show yourself!

Food Poisoning or The Plague, You Be The Judge

Of course, once I told Blue Shield where to shove it, I got sick.  You know how it goes.

I’ve had food poisoning before, from the one time I broke the no-beef-from-fast-food-restaurants rule I’ve been following since childhood.  Yes, that week I spent in the bathroom brings back memories.  Who needs ‘shrooms when you can get equally trippy hallucinations from severe dehydration?

So, I’m pretty sure that’s what I’ve got going on now – the nausea, the stomach cramps, the inability to swallow even water without retching, the wishing my plumber husband had installed side-by-side toilets.  Because, let’s face it, there are times when both your ends need a toilet at the same exact moment.

But then I was lying in bed last night, feeling grateful for the tiny bit of applesauce I was able to keep down yesterday, and it occurred to me: maybe it isn’t food poisoning.

Maybe I caught something when we went to look at those nasty foreclosed homes we’re thinking of buying.  I did have an open wound that could have let bacteria right in.  A huge, throbbing zit is considered an open wound, right?  I thought so.

Anyway, I made an appointment with Dr. Google today while I enjoyed a reprieve from the toilet, just to make sure I couldn’t have caught something gross from being in a disgusting, ceiling-caved-in, mildewy smelling house. 

Guess what I found, invisible friends?  The plague, that’s what.  Fortunately, I don’t have any symptoms of the bubonic plague, just the septicemic plague.  Although, since my symptoms seem to be getting better rather than progressing to bleeding from my rectum or gangrene in my extremities, I think I probably just have food poisoning.

You didn’t think I could find a way to make food poisoning look appealing, did you?  Oh, ye of little faith.

Confessions

Let’s talk a little bit about guilt.  I don’t mean the O.J. Simpson kind of guilt, but the kind you carry around with you.  Self-imposed guilt, let’s call it.

I’ve got a bit of it knocking around.  Occasionally it will rear its ugly head, and I’ll have to do something to rectify the guilt so as to loosen the knot in the pit of my belly.  Guilt can be an ugly, ugly thing if it’s left to its own devices. 

Take, for example, this ugliness:

that soon turned into this ugliness:


All from me tripping over my exercise ball back in February.  Which, I must say, I have always said came out of nowhere.  Let me assure you: no part of it was pretty, and my family had to look at me like that all day, every day, for weeks

I never talked much about how “the trip” came about, because I didn’t want my 4 year old to ever get the impression that it was somehow her fault.  That her getting out of bed repeatedly, and me having to go in there and take away her books, and thus walk around her room in the dark, was the cause of my fall.  And subsequently, the cause of the blood all over her floor, followed by her daddy cussing in front of her for the first time and her Mommy being rushed to the emergency room. 

Are you following? 

Yesterday, she walked up to me and said, “I’m sorry, Mommy.  I’m sorry I pushed the ball at you when I was mad, and I’m sorry you fell.”  

How heavy was the weight that came off of her tiny shoulders when she confessed?

It’s hideous, I know

My first (and hopefully ONLY, EVER) black eye.  And those little black things aren’t spiders, they’re stitches.  Three.  And the actual cut?  Lightning-bolt shaped.  How interesting! 
It really freaking hurts.  Not constantly, though, thank goodness.  Only when I blink, smile, bite, chew or make any kind of facial expression at all.  It hurts even more if I flinch or laugh.  
How did I maim myself in such a way, you ask?  I tripped over my exercise ball, which was NOT in my path on the way TO Alison’s closet but mysteriously WAS in my path on the way back.  Suddenly, my feet were swept out from under me and my face went WHAM! on the floor.  My glasses were the only thing between my face and the floor, which is what created the lovely puncture at the corner of my eye.  
                                                    What I managed to hurt in the fall:
                            cheek bone    brow bone     eye ball     eye lid      knee    elbow