Sorry I didn't post anything interesting today. I've been quite sick, though. During our Monday night group, my throat started getting sore, but I thought it was just because I'd been talking a long time.
Yesterday, I got out and had coffee with SC while I gave her some pointers on one of her assignments (I still feel like I tutor, only these days, it's not a paid job anymore). It was fun.
But later that evening (around 5:30, I'd say), my sore throat got sorer, and a massive headache accompanied it. I'm usually not much on taking pain meds (I guess the little feminist in me rares up at the thought of any sign of weakness), but eventually, after two hours of unsuccessful sleepage, something had to be done.
I noticed that RC had tried to call me, but I just didn't feel like talking. I really didn't feel like doing anything, but I scrounged around looking for some Benadryl. The best I could find was a couple of old ones, and I didn't know how effective they'd be, so I kept looking until I snagged some NyQuil in a kitchen cabinet. I then proceeded to take the only dosage of NyQuil in captivity.
But I still couldn't sleep!
I don't know how many times I got up to drink water, go to the bathroom, blow the heck out of my nose, and generally pace and worry before I decided to grab a pillow and blanket and take to the living room recliner. Even this did not work. Finally, I got the brilliant idea to take a dose of DayQuil, even though it was non-drowsy, because I thought my sinuses would clear and I could get some sleep. I mean, I literally could get no air through either nostril last night, and breathing through my mouth was difficult, thanks to the sore throat.
Apparently that worked, although I woke up insanely early, and then lounged around, finally dragging my sorry butt out of bed around 8:00. When I discovered that I didn't have to go to work, I was pretty much useless all day.
Yeah, I did some counted cross stitch, but I just wasn't feeling it. So then, I went to my room and played some Medal of Honor. It's been years since I played the old, obsolete Xbox. It was kinda fun... until I got stuck on a mission and lost interest. Then I had some soup and tried for a nap.
Though I was freezing under three layers of blankets, I actually managed a little sleep. I just got up from that nap about 45 minutes ago. Somehow I couldn't get the song "Comfortably Numb" out of my head. It was probably the fever reference. I'm not even sure I have a fever.
Anyway, I'm not trying to be a downer or complain, but if I don't have any thrilling or overly humorous posts for a few days, I'm probably still sick. I do plan on keeping up Word of the Day, though. Peace out, ya'll!
Showing posts with label word of the day. Show all posts
Showing posts with label word of the day. Show all posts
Wednesday, February 04, 2009
Friday, December 19, 2008
Iced Inn
I didn't get out much yesterday. I got up at 7:30, took my photos for True Colours Thursday, posted them, picked up some clothes from the laundromat, went to my Granny's to pick up some packages I had delivered to her house, went to the Dollar General for a box of mac and cheese (and some junk food), and was in the rest of the evening. However, I had heard that the weather was supposed to get atrocious later that evening. Didn't look so bad to me when I was out in it.
I had settled down in the recliner, somewhat ensconsced (shameless plug for Word of the Day) in our broken recliner, with a lap cat purring gently beside me, and preparing to read the next few chapters of The Maltese Falcon. The great thing about being mostly unemployed and out of school is that you can take time to do all those things you wanted to do but never had the time for, like read The Maltese Falcon.
Things were just getting interesting. I was familiarizing myself with Sam Spade's character and getting wrapped up in the mystery surrounding Miles Archer's murder when Mom started asking me about her blog. She just joined Blogger this week, and is still getting accustomed to its navigation. Since I've had Blogger for nigh on to three years now, I forget how confusing blogging is to a newbie. Trying to be patient, I explained to her the code for creating links (though I had it written on a pink sticky note in the computer desk for her). I picked up my book again. She then asked me how to upload photos. This is nice--she posted her first True Colours Thursday, herself. And I do remember how difficult it was for me to figure out posting photos back in December of 2005. I actually had to ask RC to give me a hand at the time. I re-read the same sentence I'd been on for 15 minutes. Mom interrupted my reading again to ask about spacing. And then about how to preview the post. I set my book down until she had succesfully posted her photos.
Thinking it was again safe to try to read my book, I tried once again to re-read the same stuff that I'd been reading during each of my interruptions, when my phone rang. It was RC. I decided to answer it, though I was in peak minutes, because it was about 6:30 or so, and I knew she had 30-45 minutes of driving to get back home. If the weather had gotten nasty, she might have actually needed something. When I answered, she said she was annoyed.
This brought back memories of how my grandmother called me while annoyed earlier in the day as well, but that's another story.
So I asked RC what the problem was, and her response was freezing rain. Apparently, RC has a cousin, LH, who lives a few blocks from where RC works. RC had asked LH if she could stay over in case of bad weather. The cousin had agreed. However, when RC called her, LH informed her that she was going to a party with BW. This really cramped RC's style, because she would either have to find a way to kill three hours before LH got home from the party, or else she would have to stay alone with LH's husband, DH. RC didn't want to do either of these things, so she found herself getting a room at a Day's Inn.
This is where she called me.
I commiserated with RC for a while, and then I asked her about the condition of the room. No apparent signs of blood or other human fluids were found in her room. I reminded her to be grateful of that, because I'd had my share of nasty motel rooms, and they weren't at all pleasant.
RC decided to hang up for a while so she wouldn't waste all my minutes, and then went to Steak 'n Shake for supper. I suggested this to her, as her motel was only steps away from the restaurant, and they never close. She later called me back (during my period of free minutes) to tell me about the rest of her misadventures. Apparently, she was so flustered that she sat down at the nearest table, disregarding (actually, not seeing) the sign that asked patrons to wait to be seated by a hostess. Then, after eating, she stepped onto the sidewalk to go back to her room, and slipped on the ice. Fortunately, she didn't fall, but from the sound of things, she had several close calls with the ice that night.
As she was recounting all these details to me, RC said, "I bet you're going to put this down in your Blogspot." 'Now why didn't I not think of that?' (inside joke). Suddenly, I felt like David Sedaris. In a manner of speaking, of course. Not being Sedaris, I can't honestly attest to his feelings, but I do know that his family is afraid to say or do anything for fear that he will write about it in one of his books. Thus, I took this little phrase from RC as a compliment.
So, though she was iced "inn" at a Day's Inn, RC should have had a good night's sleep. Though LH came home from her party at a decent hour, at least in the motel room, RC had her own TV, and nobody was around to tell her to change the channel.
Oh yeah, and I just decided to save Sam Spade for another day.
I had settled down in the recliner, somewhat ensconsced (shameless plug for Word of the Day) in our broken recliner, with a lap cat purring gently beside me, and preparing to read the next few chapters of The Maltese Falcon. The great thing about being mostly unemployed and out of school is that you can take time to do all those things you wanted to do but never had the time for, like read The Maltese Falcon.
Things were just getting interesting. I was familiarizing myself with Sam Spade's character and getting wrapped up in the mystery surrounding Miles Archer's murder when Mom started asking me about her blog. She just joined Blogger this week, and is still getting accustomed to its navigation. Since I've had Blogger for nigh on to three years now, I forget how confusing blogging is to a newbie. Trying to be patient, I explained to her the code for creating links (though I had it written on a pink sticky note in the computer desk for her). I picked up my book again. She then asked me how to upload photos. This is nice--she posted her first True Colours Thursday, herself. And I do remember how difficult it was for me to figure out posting photos back in December of 2005. I actually had to ask RC to give me a hand at the time. I re-read the same sentence I'd been on for 15 minutes. Mom interrupted my reading again to ask about spacing. And then about how to preview the post. I set my book down until she had succesfully posted her photos.
Thinking it was again safe to try to read my book, I tried once again to re-read the same stuff that I'd been reading during each of my interruptions, when my phone rang. It was RC. I decided to answer it, though I was in peak minutes, because it was about 6:30 or so, and I knew she had 30-45 minutes of driving to get back home. If the weather had gotten nasty, she might have actually needed something. When I answered, she said she was annoyed.
This brought back memories of how my grandmother called me while annoyed earlier in the day as well, but that's another story.
So I asked RC what the problem was, and her response was freezing rain. Apparently, RC has a cousin, LH, who lives a few blocks from where RC works. RC had asked LH if she could stay over in case of bad weather. The cousin had agreed. However, when RC called her, LH informed her that she was going to a party with BW. This really cramped RC's style, because she would either have to find a way to kill three hours before LH got home from the party, or else she would have to stay alone with LH's husband, DH. RC didn't want to do either of these things, so she found herself getting a room at a Day's Inn.
This is where she called me.
I commiserated with RC for a while, and then I asked her about the condition of the room. No apparent signs of blood or other human fluids were found in her room. I reminded her to be grateful of that, because I'd had my share of nasty motel rooms, and they weren't at all pleasant.
RC decided to hang up for a while so she wouldn't waste all my minutes, and then went to Steak 'n Shake for supper. I suggested this to her, as her motel was only steps away from the restaurant, and they never close. She later called me back (during my period of free minutes) to tell me about the rest of her misadventures. Apparently, she was so flustered that she sat down at the nearest table, disregarding (actually, not seeing) the sign that asked patrons to wait to be seated by a hostess. Then, after eating, she stepped onto the sidewalk to go back to her room, and slipped on the ice. Fortunately, she didn't fall, but from the sound of things, she had several close calls with the ice that night.
As she was recounting all these details to me, RC said, "I bet you're going to put this down in your Blogspot." 'Now why didn't I not think of that?' (inside joke). Suddenly, I felt like David Sedaris. In a manner of speaking, of course. Not being Sedaris, I can't honestly attest to his feelings, but I do know that his family is afraid to say or do anything for fear that he will write about it in one of his books. Thus, I took this little phrase from RC as a compliment.
So, though she was iced "inn" at a Day's Inn, RC should have had a good night's sleep. Though LH came home from her party at a decent hour, at least in the motel room, RC had her own TV, and nobody was around to tell her to change the channel.
Oh yeah, and I just decided to save Sam Spade for another day.
Monday, December 01, 2008
Lady Chadwick's Soiree
On my other blog, Word of the Day, I started a crazy trend. I should begin by explaining that on Word of the Day I take dictionary.com's word of the day and use it in a sentence or two as a vocabulary-building exercise. One day the word was "soiree," and I came up with a silly sentence, and some of my readers joined in until we had a little story. I thank everyone who played along, either with the Lady Chadwick story or with sentences of their own. I especially give props to Alisa, who came up with the name Lady Chadwick. I decided to take all of November's words (or a form of them) and combine them into one story. I've linked each of the words to its own entry for Word of the Day, so you can read the original post and comments for each word (side note: I invite anyone who wants to join in to post a comment using the daily words--it's really a lot of fun, guys!) Additionally, each Word of the Day post should have a link to dictionary.com's definition, which includes a pronunciation service. I tried to create original sentences for this one, so hopefully I didn't rehash an older sentence by accident. Enjoy!
Lady Chadwick's Soiree
It all started one day when I received an invitation to Lady Chadwick’s soiree. I was addled, thinking this guerdon must have been sent in error. Lady Chadwick is such a powerful aristocrat—everyone knows she is the eminence grise behind her husband, Lord Chadwick.
I envisioned Lady Chadwick ensconced in her resplendent gown. Such a beautiful nabob—it is unfortunate that the one flaw that adulterates her beauty is an aquiline nose. The nose, I’m certain, is the one factor that has kept Lord Chadwick from expressing his amatory affection toward his wife in public.
Having never been to a soiree before, I strolled into the party with a smooth cadence. The Chadwick escutcheon loomed impressively before me. The epicure in me recognized scents of wonderment to the olfactory system wafting from the kitchen into the dining area. What a Lucullan feast!
I took a seat near BJ and Alisa. We were admiring Lady Chadwick’s eminent figure as she leaned on the balustrade, smiling on her beloved guests. Alisa was explaining that according to her sidereal astrology, people like me did not generally appear at such grand parties. I couldn’t understand what she meant.
Suddenly, the merriment abated. Someone noticed that I was wearing a red hoodie and blue jeans. Horripilation formed on my freshly-lotioned arms. “Reprobate!” Lady Chadwick boomed. Reprobate was the mot juste for the occasion, it seemed.
“But I wore the special emollient you sent me, Lady Chadwick,” I protested, intimating that I had done nothing wrong. Though I tried to adduce evidence of my innocence, insisting that my removal was based on footless claims, looking back I realized that my choice of attire was a bit frowzy.
I see now that my affectations toward the upper crust citizens had gotten me nowhere. My presence at the soiree was nothing but an unwanted incursion. I paid my last respects to my high society life with proper obsequies. Wearing my jeans and red hoodie, I picked up what was left of my pride, and became a writer.
Lady Chadwick's Soiree
It all started one day when I received an invitation to Lady Chadwick’s soiree. I was addled, thinking this guerdon must have been sent in error. Lady Chadwick is such a powerful aristocrat—everyone knows she is the eminence grise behind her husband, Lord Chadwick.
I envisioned Lady Chadwick ensconced in her resplendent gown. Such a beautiful nabob—it is unfortunate that the one flaw that adulterates her beauty is an aquiline nose. The nose, I’m certain, is the one factor that has kept Lord Chadwick from expressing his amatory affection toward his wife in public.
Having never been to a soiree before, I strolled into the party with a smooth cadence. The Chadwick escutcheon loomed impressively before me. The epicure in me recognized scents of wonderment to the olfactory system wafting from the kitchen into the dining area. What a Lucullan feast!
I took a seat near BJ and Alisa. We were admiring Lady Chadwick’s eminent figure as she leaned on the balustrade, smiling on her beloved guests. Alisa was explaining that according to her sidereal astrology, people like me did not generally appear at such grand parties. I couldn’t understand what she meant.
Suddenly, the merriment abated. Someone noticed that I was wearing a red hoodie and blue jeans. Horripilation formed on my freshly-lotioned arms. “Reprobate!” Lady Chadwick boomed. Reprobate was the mot juste for the occasion, it seemed.
“But I wore the special emollient you sent me, Lady Chadwick,” I protested, intimating that I had done nothing wrong. Though I tried to adduce evidence of my innocence, insisting that my removal was based on footless claims, looking back I realized that my choice of attire was a bit frowzy.
I see now that my affectations toward the upper crust citizens had gotten me nowhere. My presence at the soiree was nothing but an unwanted incursion. I paid my last respects to my high society life with proper obsequies. Wearing my jeans and red hoodie, I picked up what was left of my pride, and became a writer.
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