All week, I’ve wanted to write more about my Las Vegas trip. I wanted to write about the rowdy plane ride down there and the near-silent plane ride home. I wanted to write about the guy next to me on the plane who took off his shoes and passed out, leaving me to stare at his purple socks with pink toes, heels, and colourful polka-dots, that I thought my five year old niece would appreciate. I wanted to write about going to see O, and how amazing and beautiful it was, and how one of the acrobats missed their mark and dived gracefully into the water below, crawling out quietly. I wanted to write about the pianist who paused, looked at me, and smiled because I was so appreciative of his rendition of Let It Be. I wanted to write about the weather, how I finally, for the first time in my life, got to say “It was 100 degrees today!” It was actually 108, but who’s counting? I wanted to write about the topless pool that I was so curious about, and that I kept seeing a pretty lady in a white bikini handing people cards with the pool’s name on it, Bare. Were these people especially selected for their topless-ability? It turned out that the pool was more of a nightclub, but in the day, and pretty much anyone was allowed to go, although the crowd tended to be self-selecting. In case you’re curious, I did not, but it kept my imagination busy for a while. I wanted to write about meeting new friends and how I always think Americans are the friendliest, most hospitable people in the world.
But then, I got sick. Remember the little non-debilitating sniffles? It morphed into a full body exhaustion and sinus ache, which I’m sure was due entirely to my attitude of “mind over matter” and “just push through.” This only works for so long.
Wednesday was a bad day; I had to drag myself out of bed at 6:30, after a full TEN hours of sleep. After dropping the kids at school, I took the dog for a walk, feeling like I was actually running a marathon. Then I went to Costco. People, Costco is not the place you want to be when you’re under the weather. At one point, I stopped in the frozen fruit aisle, listening to the whooshing noise in my head and wondering what would happen if I passed out. I was pretty sure that would be an awkward scenario. I managed to finish my shopping and even put away all the groceries, though going up and down the stairs made my heart feel like it was going to explode. I picked the kids up for lunch, and Mark said in a concerned way, “Maybe you should lie down, Mom. Maybe a nap would help you.”
A nap! Brilliant! Except…in what can only be described as a very bad decision, that morning in a “everything’s normal and I’m fine” fit, I stripped all the beds and laundered the sheets. My couch is very uncomfortable for napping, and so I needed to put the sheets back ON the beds prior to napping. It felt like a K2 expedition at that point but somehow I did it, and slept the afternoon away.
Things are better today, or they were, until I started to feel terrible about an hour ago. Oh no! Relapse! Until I realized that I hadn’t eaten since breakfast. FEED A COLD, NICOLE. I thought guacamole would be medicinal, so I chopped up some tomatoes, and then grabbed my lone avocado. It wasn’t until I sliced it open and then couldn’t get the pit out, and tried to cut around it and mash the rock solid flesh, that I realized that it wasn’t ripe. Sadness.
I then – dear reader, you must realize my desperation by now – made some sort of makeshift “nachos” using Mary’s Gluten Free Seed Crackers, non-dairy cheddar slices, and the chopped up tomatoes. It was seasoned by my tears. Just kidding. It wasn’t terrible with salsa. I mean, there are probably a thousand things much better than eating a plate of gluten-free crackers topped with a product whose first two ingredients are water and tapioca starch, but it wasn’t actively awful.
Well, it can only go up from here, right? It’s Friday, and there is only one week left of school, so that’s something. Happy weekend everyone. xo