In Which I Demonstrate that I Have Never Grown Up

I passed a sign today that said "Fish Place." So I've decided to start collecting Fish signs. I have a picture taken of me in Denver in front of "One Fish Two Fish" but I just realized how unattractive a picture it is, and so I won't post it here. Instead I'll torture you with this.





So now I'm on a mission; I'll have to take the digital camera with me everywhere so I can capture these images. You can help, of course. Just e-mail me the best fish signage. It has to say FISH in there somewhere.

I did love Denver so; here's the funniest sign I saw in the whole 30 hours I was there. I didn't have the camera the first time we passed it, so I drove back downtown to the hotel and went BACK to the street where we saw this with the camera. Because apparently phallic humor is hugely important to me. No pun intended.

I am Panther, Hear Me Roar

Over the weekend I got an e-mail from the school secretary asking me to be available Monday morning for the principal, as she needed some information on the carnival for making announcements. OK, I responded; I'll be there. Shoot, I'm already there anyway most mornings now.

So I'm there, and other moms and I are gathered around the large TV in the front of the school where we can watch them do their little morning announcement broadcast. I'm waiting for all that to finish so the principal will come out, and we're watching the cute little kids who are so shy. Apparently it's Panther of the Month day, where they honor a kid from each grade who is exceptional. The kids are all lined up and their parents are in the media room watching and clapping. One little boy is so shy he can hardly speak.

One of the moms in the front says: "Oh, that would so be me. When I was a kid my face would turn red and I'd be looking for a place to hide."

"Oh, not me!" I respond. "If that were me as a kid, I'd have the principal's microphone and I'd be working the room."

And it's true - I was a ham. I was such a ham it's a wonder my nickname is fish-related and not pig-related. Never mind that the connotations of that could be cruel if expressed; I'd answer to Pork Chop. Wouldn't you?

So back to the story... more waiting as they get to fourth and fifth grade, and then parent volunteer of the month, and there is the principal calling my name! For all my hard work on the carnival and for being so optimistic and organized.

Wow. Just wow.

And then she makes me stand near her to congratulate me, then says: "Would YOU like to make the announcement about carnival?" AND HANDS ME THE MICROPHONE.

Which makes the entire front office and all the moms roar with laughter, because me? Ham? Remember? Not two minutes ago I'm owning up to intention to steal the principal's mic and work the room, and I'm holding the mic and working the room, the camera, the entire school. Kids came up to me this week I've never seen saying "I saw you on the TV!" and Christine, the perpetually-disobedient classmate of the Little Critter's saw me, hugged me, and shouted her congratulations at lunch.

Which is a sweet thing. Better even than a pretty Panther Plaque with my name all scripted on it. And the reputation for hogging the spotlight.

Member-ship

I have to take a moment to vent here. In the process of getting ready for carnival, I'm checking my e-mail all day long. I never know when people are going to send me random information, and it's better to get it quickly and act on it immediately than wait and do it all at night.

So each time the words "new message" appear, I open the program as quickly as I can.

Only to find that there are a score of people who think my penis needs enlarging. That I need to buy something to satisfy her desires. That this is the answer to my small member. THIS is what I've been looking for. (Does it bother anyone else that I ended that sentence with a preposition? Even though I run sentence fragments all through this blog? Just me? Ok.)

I'm starting to get a complex. And it would take more than a pill to fix what they say is broke on me. Maybe there's a pill for this horrible guilt that I'll never be the man she wants me to be.

EEEWWWWWWW!

Crunch Time

Carnival is fast approaching! This week people have finally come out of the woodwork to ask if they can help. I hear people talking about donations; "XYZ Comany will donate something" they yell in passing. People, this does not help. As much as I'd like to be, I am not a Human Computer. I cannot remember what you told me three weeks ago. If so-n-so wants to donate, GO GET THE DONATION. Jeepers!

I have put in more hours on the phone and at school this week than all my other hours put together. I think. Luckily, the administration has pity on me, and has been signing whatever I put in front of them, and the administrative assistant has held my hand through the excruciating process of negotiating our way through district regulations. I think there's a lot of red-tape-cutting going on of which I am the beneficiary. Yay for people with sense!

It's also getting close to the Convention - this Saturday. I worked on the decorations yesterday, and came up with the arrangement shown. I am not a floweredy person at all, so I agonized over this for hours. Nobody will notice it after they see it walking in, and still I was haunting WalMart and Hobby Lobby all day trying to put things together. I did learn a valuable lesson; Stitch Witchery is AWESOME stuff for hemming when you don't sew. Let's hear it for Shortcuts for the Incompetent! There's a whole article in that; what to do when you don't know how to do what you have to do.

I worked up a spreadsheet to take to convention with me. It will figure out how to calculate in NO TIME the actual votes in a roll call. I feel smarter having put it together. It'll be a matter of plugging in numbers and clicking a mouse. If it works correctly as it has in my tests, then we could conceivably save an hour or two if there are votes like that. Which should more than make up for all the people cranky with me for my antics last year.

You can blame all the above if my entries don't turn over as quickly as they have been. I have a feeling, however, that I'll have much to report about the aforementioned. (I love that word!)

Cheerio!

Sacri-fish-al

I wanted to share the experience of teaching 4-year-olds about Jesus taking on the merchants in the temple. The story is pretty straightforward. The temple sacrifices were supposed to be made from the best of the person's stock. People bringing their best animals were told the animals were substandard, and then they were forced to buy from the temple merchants at about 25 times the price. Yes, there was some serious money in animal sacrifice. Jesus knew people were being cheated, and in the Lord's house. So he raided their stall, overturned their counters and used a whip to drive the people, and presumably the animals, out of the temple.

Think about this; how is a 4-year-old child going to see this event? Can they relate to people coming in the church and making it into Offerings R Us? What do we do to explain Animal Sacrifice? (For the record, I simply told the children they had to bring animals to the temple; in no way did I explain what they were bringing them to the temple for. And no stuffed animals were harmed in the making of this lesson.)

So I gathered small stuffed animals at home, and made signs: Temple Animals $1 and Temple Animals $25. I copied some Monopoly dollar bills, and cut them out so each child would have some money. I arranged some of the animals just outside our door, and some inside the room, and posted the appropriate signs.

When we started our lesson, I divided them up into families. Each family had to go out to the Animal Store and choose an animal and buy it.

(Side note: we collect pigs, so obviously the animals weren't all kosher. I think I even offered dogs and cats and ducks. Good thing we didn't sacrifice them; the stuffing would have made a mess. And the Little Critter wanted to bring a unicorn, but I held firm on that one.)

When they had bought their animals, they went into the "temple" and met me inside. I told them their animals were too ugly, fat, thin, curly-haired, feathery, whatever. Then I made them give me all the rest of their money to buy new animals, and I recycled the ones they had to discard, so they could all catch me cheating.

I asked a ton of questions about this. Was I being fair when I was inside the temple? Was there really something wrong with their animals? Was I being greedy? What would you do about this? If you wanted to tell on them, who would you tell?

Four-year-olds answer almost any question in class first with "Jesus!"

But they seemed to understand at least the bad things I was doing, and recognize the unfairness of them. And in this case, the answer to the last question really was Jesus.

So sweet Christopher got to be Jesus. I gave him a rolled paper "switch" and had him throw over the desk where I was counting all my money. Then he whopped me out of the classroom saying: "Get out, and STAY out!"

Immediately everyone wanted to be Jesus. I mean, who doesn't want to whop Miss Fish around?

So seven more times I sacrificed my backside to this lesson. Did you know preschoolers can lay a beating on you that is difficult to forget? I didn't think you did; glad I cleared that up for you. You know you were dying of curiosity. Admit it.

But it was huge fun, and they all ran to their parents at pick-up time to tell them what we did. I bet there was no lack of discussion in those households about the holiness of God's temple. Or at least, no lack of giggling at the image of Miss Fish getting whalloped time and again.

When I Grow Up

I was thinking the other day about all the professions I flirted with at one time or another. I've ended up in a great place, to be sure, but I really had some detours along the way.

When I was three, I was in the little program at church; a church so small "choir" wasn't even the word for it. Somehow in the middle of the song, I had toddled up to the microphone and grabbed the stand. There's a great picture of me hamming it up. So my first ambition was to be a singer.

I remember wanting to act fairly early as well. I used to delay bedtime by kissing Mom and Dad goodnight, lingering on them and smooshing my lips into their cheeks, calling it a "Hollywood kiss." We still call it that in my family. I always worked to get the lead in the school productions, but that rarely happened. I remember in fourth grade, each of the two classes did a performance of Peter and the Wolf. I made a much better and more convincing cat than Courtney did. See, competitive even at nine! And I can still, twenty-some-odd years later, recite the opening of the poem about Paul Revere's ride, especially since the Bigun was born on that day.

I toyed with being a teacher, for all of a day or so. In my college, if you went into the Education Building, you had better be looking for a bathroom. NOBODY with any real brains went through that program. I'm not saying education is a last-ditch program to keep stupid people in college; it's just at my college, it was. So instead I thought about writing. I'd been writing little stories and poems since elementary school, and making up little plays and things with the neighbor kids as long as I could remember. Unfortunately, there are a lot of writers out there writing a lot of things, and as I came up with ideas, they fled just as quickly. No, the Great American Novel would have to be crafted by someone else. I can't even get serious about NaNoWriMo.

After I did get an accounting degree (What? You're shocked at that?) I worked at that for a while. I was never any good at it, but I was learning a lot more on the job than I ever learned in college. My Tax Accounting professor took me aside one day and tried to convince me I had mad skillz in the field, and should apply to work for the IRS. Um, after Daddy's Big Audit I'd witnessed growing up, no thanks. Although looking back, I probably should have done it. I have more compassion than your average IRS agent. You would want me to audit your books. I am a softie.

I thought about going back to school to be a lawyer. I could be a tax accountant and make a bajillion dollars a year. Except I'm still no good at accountancy, and though I loved my law classes and made As in them, I just don't think I'd make any kind of lawyer. I may sit for the LSAT one day, just to see if I could. I'm weird like that.

I also frequently toy with ideas for businesses. I worked on ideas for

a contractor referral business for small jobs,
a personal assistant/concierge business,
writing a book on teaching kids from the Bible,
a party puppet palace,
a resale shop,
an online craft mall,

and my current "business" of party puppetry that goes to the party.

No wonder I'm so unfocused. There's still so much to do before I grow up.

In Which I Suffer for My Art

A few of you know I'm into puppetry. I purchased a strolling stage and some puppets, got business cards, and billed myself as a party animal. But since I am not doing puppetry in the church preschool area anymore, I'm really out of practice. I've been too busy to do parties, and I can't really hustle up the business when I'm doing three other projects. That's okay, because I'll get a chance to do some later, but I hate getting rusty.

So this company comes along and has a Training School tour, and after much work and advocacy on my part, actually comes to our church to hold it. I'm thinking our whole team, all 5 campuses, will have people there, and we can all learn a ton of new fun stuff and get so much better! Which is sorely needed in some places.

Um, no. My campus is the only one where people showed, and there were 4 of us. Puppetry is fun, evidently, but not a serious pursuit. Now I know that sounds stupid at first glance. Puppetry? Serious? Come ON!

But really, when you watch Sesame Street or Lazy Town or Muppets or Yoda even, you are NOT thinking that there's some goofball messing around under there with his hand up the character's back. You are watching the CHARACTER, and believing in it. These are all examples where it's done so well, it only occurs once in a while for you to wonder how it's done. THAT is excellent puppetry. You don't just ignore the puppeteer; you cease to think about him at all.

And that's where I want to be one day. There are several elements you have to master; lip-synching, realistic movements, arm-rod manipulation, vocal characterization (if you are speaking, and not synching to something pre-recorded,) height and posture, and entrances and exits. They have classes at these workshops to hit each of those elements and more. But there's one class that they offer called Xtreme Puppetry 3xperience, and it's basically Puppet Boot Camp. Day one, you learn a number and perform it after 1.5 hours, and day two, you learn an entirely different number, and perform that after about 2.5 hours.

Think about that. Learn a piece of music and choreography to it in a couple of hours. And perform in front of an audience not of laypeople, but of puppeteers.

So the first day we did blacklight puppetry, and I'd never done that. If they send the copy of the tape they made, then I can see what it looks like.

The second day, we did a sweet little piece called "Say Something Good About America." The music was a march in the style of a kids' school production. We "auditioned" for parts, and this time I got the lead, evidently due to my ability to lip-synch the spoken word. (Yea me!) So in the production, there are 5 of us operating about 10 puppets as well as flags and "fireworks" and other props. The stage is small, but 5 people fit nicely. Until we start having the puppets do marches in circles and such. Then there are 5 of us in that small space trying to move puppets in line with each other, and not trip over each other. I'm on the outside of the marching line, so I have to make the full circle on the outside, hunched over so nobody can see me. Try this; squat down knees bent halfway to a sitting position. Put one arm up alongside your ear. Move the hand in time to music, and walk backwards in a circle for a hour. Thighs love this, I swear.

After we performed it, the puppet people took the curtains down and had us repeat the performance so the audience could see how we did it. THAT was the part where I felt anxious. I mean, then people would see when I messed up, or how awkwardly I had to move in order to do the moves.

But it was so sweet to have the lead, and so sweet to realize how much we accomplished in a few hours; a show good enough to be used as an example to other puppeteers.

I am so sore, I hurt in places I didn't know had muscles. And I'm desperate to do it all again. The hardest part is when it's over.

A Lovely Shade of Brown

I forgot to mention this. (For someone with nothing to say, I sure have a lot of entries!)

Yesterday I went to the convenience store on the way home from running errands. Right on the counter was a lovely new Take 5 candy bar. The one with the chocolate cookie inside. Well, the Bigun and I are immensely fond of the original Take 5 bars, and we got Just Joe hooked on them, so usually we have them around. Lately, though, I've been lax about getting them, so we're in withdrawal.

I saw the new variety and decided to try it - at 2/$1 it couldn't hurt anything.

The Bigun arrives home from school.

Me: I got you a present!

Bigun: Really? What? What?

Me: Lookie!

Bigun: Oh wow! Wanna split it?

Me: Sure, break me off half of one half.

Bigun: No! Eat the entire half! You know you want to!

...and so on. She threatens to put the other half of my piece down my shirt and chases me down the hall, but I was pretty quick. For an old mom, anyway.

So off I go to the political meeting, and sit there schmoozing and catching up and making plans and everything. Great evening. I drive home all ready to tell JJ about it, so when I arrive he makes me a drink and offers to rub that twinge-y shoulder I have while I tell him.

Shirt and sweater off, then the straps of the camisole and bra, and then:

JJ: Um, honey?

Me: Yeah?

JJ: Who shit on you?

Me: !!! (punctuated by flapping arms)

JJ: You have brown gunk all over your back. Seriously. I'm not sure I can touch you.

Me: (more flapping, perhaps even some swearing)

The Bigun had indeed been too quick for me. So I wore that chocolate all day. Who the HELL walks around unaware they have chocolate IN THEIR SHIRT? I mean, besides ME? Anyone?

JJ got over the imagery eventually. I might even be able to sleep in the same room with him again one day.

Party Animal

I am serving again in the County Republican Party Senate District Convention this month. Damn, that's a mouthful! Basically I'll be Secretary of the Convention at the end of the month. It's a lovely job, too. I get to sit up in the front of the room where everyone can see me, record the voting strength of each precinct for posterity and for voting purposes, tally and record any roll call votes, and occasionally make a nusiance of myself. More on that later.

But I love being in party politics. When I go to meetings, people are always talking about candidates, with far more knowledge than the average person has. It's like they're all privy to the stuff you only WISH you knew about your candidates. I feel smarter, and better-informed, just standing in the same room with them. And once I get back into convention mode, I'm speaking a different language. I actually sound, well,... smart on occasion.

When I first got involved in the convention process, it was because I went to a "How to Get Involved" seminar at church in 1998. Bill , who was in the meeting tonight, was one of the people who led the seminar, and Bill is probably one of eighteen people in the Northern Hemisphere who understands completely Robert's Rules of Order. From memory. When Bill speaks, I sit up and listen with everything I have, because whatever it is, it's intelligent. It could be the most mundane of rules or procedures, and he can invest the discussion with an importance that makes you panic lest the Right Thing is not done. You want to run out and slay dragons at his request; you want to march boldly up to a microphone in front of 5,000 people and plead his cause with him. Except when you don't.

Two years ago, at the local convention, I was also serving as secretary. I got the post in the time-honored tradition of the Grand Old Party: I called up the Chairman and volunteered. He was ecstatic because he had no secretary and no prospect of one. A cushy job, he said, unless there's a roll call vote. Then we'll be there to help you. But that doesn't happen really often at all.

And a roll call vote - what's that? It's when a hall full of people vote by shouting and the verdict is uncertain because some people out in the convention floor are very very good shouters. When someone is disgusted enough at the unfairly loud voters, they will move for a roll call vote. In that instance, everything stops. Except for the secretary.

Then, the secretary has to go precinct by precinct and report the votes from each delegation. So if my delegation had 35 votes possible, and 5 people attending (which will be the case this year) then each one of us gets 7 votes. So a 2-3 vote in my precinct comes out 14-21. Multiply that by about 60 precincts and there's an hour wasted. At least. Not to mention fractions of votes. It requires a computer and a spreadsheet at minimum.

And the roll call votes ALWAYS happen when we debate resolutions. You know; Resolved: that The Honorable Stick Stickley, District Judge, should remove his cranium from his rectal region and step down. Or whatever. Someone wants to take out a word, add a word, strike a paragraph. That's all part of how it works. And people who come for their first time to a political meeting of this nature WANT to have the resolutions reflect their views. After all, these resolutions get mixed together with resolutions from other counties and districts and combine to be the State Platform, which in turn combines with other states' resolutions to become the National Platform. Which is the general consensus of what Republican voters think Republican candidates and officeholders ought to do to be able to call themselves Republicans. Seems eminently fair to me.

So in the beginning of the resolutions discussion at convention 2 years ago, someone made a motion to pass as a whole the entire platform, without amendment, that had been handed out a half hour before for review. Now I read fast, but not that fast. And with this stuff, I need to digest it first. I thought others might as well. We had to pass something out of convention to go to State with, and the executive committe was really ready to go home after a long day, so they had tried to gin it up beforehand. They would move to pass it, accept it, and get out.

Well, people were getting upset; they came to debate, to take part in the process, and they wanted a discussion. So Fish stepped up.

I requested the microphone and then addressed the convention. I told them all that while it was a nice thing to get the business of the convention done quickly, it was much more important that the people who came, especially the people who came for the first time that day, felt as though they had a say in adopting the resolutions. I said in front of everyone that the effect of their strategy was to stifle all meaningful debate on the resolutions, and that before they proceeded, they ought to take a vote to see whether the delegates actually wanted to examine the resolution a section at a time.

This made me very very unpopular with the executive committee. Especially since we had a couple of roll call votes after that, and were the LAST convention to finish business at 10:00 p.m. that night.

But let me say this: last year at church one day, a mommy of a preschooler came up to me and said "You're Miss Fish! I remember you from convention! You're the one who made sure we got to debate all those resolutions! I was so proud of you! You did a great job standing up for us delegates!"

That right there made it worth it. And anyway, nobody else wanted to be secretary again this year, so what else were they going to do? They let me come back and play again this year. And nobody even referred to the incident, so I guess they've all forgotten it. Even Bill.

But they had better not try it again this year. Fishie is ready for battle.

I am een VIN see ball

Look at me. I am now an html wench. A CSS mistress. I pwn this blog.


Okay, so I just got linkies to some of my favorite people. The point, people, is that:

I DID IT MYSELF!

Commence homage! You may indeed now worship me.



From afar, of course. I'll wait here until you get back.

Copycatfish

I've been outdone.

The Little Critter crawled into bed with us Sunday morning like a heating pad. (But this time, a dry one) Sure enough, she topped my house fever record and left it in the dust. 102.3. Showoff.

We went ahead and drove home to see the family for a little while because she felt fine, and because the fever had dropped a lot by the time we left. Good times all around, nice conversation on the way home, and a very compassionate big sister helping take care of the LC when we returned.

So Bitty is playing hooky today, and she went to the doctor. I'd forgotten how nervous she can be doing things like that. She was so brave, but I could tell she was fretting every minute. In all, the doctor told her no shots, no infection in her ears or throat, no rasp in her cough, and a managable fever. Still she wrote a scrip for Amoxicillin and told me I had bronchitis. Gee, thanks. Where's my scrip?

So one doctor trip and one Icee later, the Little Critter is chillin' in front of Super Smash Brothers and smiling because she gets the "bubble gum medicine" and because the Bigun made her Kool Aid popcicles. And because she doesn't have "lamonia."

I'll let her win this time.

Delirium

I don't think I've ever been this ill.

Wednedsay, after trying to stay awake all day in order to collapse that night into oblivion, I was wide awake. I tried a hundred positions in bed, I moved to the couch and sampled a few more. I turned off the lights. I put on just the television. I skimmed channels until 5:30 and all I learned is that music videos suck as badly as they ever did, and that I really don't want to learn how to get rich quick selling real estate. I finished my book and started another. I ached and coughed and snoofled and sneezed and got no relief.

So yesterday, I get the kiddos off to school and prepare to go back to bed. NOW I can collapse.

Um, no.

Instead I fought for sleep for the entire day. I left the bedroom maybe three times, but could not relax. As the day wore on, I began to worry that I'd miss picking up the LC, or that I'd slide into oblivion just as JJ needed me to pick him up. That, of course, didn't help.

But the Bigun saved me by picking up her sister, and shortly after that, JJ walks in having convinced a buddy from work he needed a ride home early to take care of me. So now I have permission to relax.

Nope. Nada. Zip. My mind by this time had gone into overdrive, reviewing every project I am involved in, every chore left undone in my illness, even revisiting the most inane follies of my youth. I lay there thinking about Bryan marrying Vickie, and why he ever did that, and about that flirtation I had with John and how dumb that was. What I will wear to Puppet School next weekend and whether the LC needs new shoes. I can't turn it off no matter what I try!

JJ keeps things going while I'm trying to rest, and after I eat and the LC is down, he tries to help me sleep. A backrub, running his fingers over my shoulders, the massage he does when I have sinus headaches. I'm finally beginning to let go. And sleep.

For two hours. At midnight I am awake and panicked and crying "I'll never get to sleep!" I'm literally thrashing around on the bed, afraid I'll go insane from lack of sleep. Poor JJ is only half-conscious at this, except when I thrash on him, and he mumbles and throws an arm over me, praying I will shut up. It must have taken an hour to settle back down and fall asleep again. Then, waking just once more but with far less desperation, I finally sleep soundly until JJ wakes me to take him to work.

So the sinus pressure is lessened, the coughing has calmed down, the headache is for now at bay, and I am rested, somewhat. But I'm petrified of not sleeping again. I have a whole new insight into insomnia, and people who get addicted to sleeping pills. I'm usually a person who knows my own mind and what I want to do to solve a problem. But last night I was helpless. I have not known that complete loss of control, the loss of hope, the raging of fear like that, EVER. It's that scene in the movies where the horrible evil thing is finally vanquished and yet,... and yet... the heroine is tossing those wary looks over her shoulder, certain that It Is Coming Back. I looked into a place I never want to see again, and I'm so afraid it's waiting for me.

Sick and Tired...

I don't know how moms get that specialized nurse training. You know, instinctively knowing your child is sick? Knowing by the way they sound or look that they've got something? I just know I have it. And that it's easier to nurse someone else than myself.

Sunday night Just Joe had a fever. Being the Daddy-type person he is, I guess he doesn't come equipped with the Sick Detector to know that. But when I came to bed he was huddled up under three blankets, wearing his pj pants and his shirt. You could fry an egg on him. He would have screamed had I put my cold feet on him; and he screams like a girl, so we definitely avoid that when possible.

So I hunt down the thermometer and make him sit still. 101.2. Now I'm in Nurse mode, and get him the ibuprofin and a cool rag. And I make him strip down and get out of those covers. I threaten him, like I do the children when they are feverish, to put him into the tub if he doesn't cool down, or at least to get the spray bottle and mist him until his side of the bed is all wet. He cools down after a half hour or so, and thus I feel comfortable going to sleep.

Monday comes and I've got a big closet-cleaning project at the elementary school, to which I've invited the entire school. Two people show, but we get the work done, toss some things, and make arrangements for others to be hauled off. But it wears me out! I leave the girls to amuse themselves and have to go lay down. But in the evening, I'm getting the achy stuff crawling up my back. JJ's massage and some ibuprofen and Tylenol PM make it possible for me to sleep.

Yesterday, after waking up, though, I discovered it was back with a vengeance. I called the prayer meeting lady and begged off, told the Little Critter I'd have to have lunch with her another day, and went right back to bed and slept almost four hours. That was great! The healing power of sleep!

Except that it was back last night, and my fever was 101.4. I'm so competitive, I had to out-fever JJ, of course.

I don't remember how to be sick! I'm almost NEVER ill. I get maybe one cold a year, and I lose my voice for a few weeks in the fall occasionally, but not fevered, dragged-down, miserable, no-energy sick. And when JJ and the Bigun were fussing over me last night, offering milkshakes from Whataburger, Slushes from Sonic, trips to the drugstore for medicine, I couldn't think of a thing I wanted. Except more sleep. Which turned out to be full of strange dreams of the Bigun flying me in a plane and my former director of Bible Study talking to me in my shower. IN the shower WITH me. Huh.

Today the ache is there, but the errands are also there. I have to check the business mailbox, mail out my coupons to the people on my trains, pick up the Kroger ad, go buy the Zicam people are telling me to get, and hopefully return the rancid milk (which has three days left to go before it's expired) to Randalls. Oh, and do the makeup lunch with the LC, and listen to her friend's mom justify her life. Again. But that's another post entirely.

So prayers and good thoughts would be most appreciated. Or a clone, maybe?