UPDATE of yesterday’s post:
The worst thing about being sick is not not being able to taste your food. It’s having children. Children who need things. Which is all children, especially mine. I can say, “you’re three now, Jasper, make your own Eggo!”, but we all know that isn’t about to happen. As much as I’d like to sit around in bed all day reading books and feeling sorry for myself, I don’t have that luxury. The house will fall apart, the children will watch a lot of movies, and I will try to yell orders from my bed. Maybe, just maybe, I will be able to get some rest.
The night before last I had a horrible night’s sleep. Normally I sleep like a dead person. I’m asleep before my head even hits the pillow and the next thing I know my alarm clock is going off in the morning. Sorry if that makes you jealous. Sleeping is one of my talents.
Until night before last. It was hot in my bedroom so I turned on the fan at 3 a.m.. The fan started to make clicking noises.
I hate clicking noises. If it’s a repetitive clicking noise I’ll eventually cope, but this clicking noise was an on again/off again affair which just made me really angry. Which made me think of other things that make me angry, and all the people who have made me angry and it eventually snowballed into me lying in bed with steam coming out of my ears.
Suffice it to say that I was extremely jazzed to be going to Cub Scout Camp the next day. Hot weather makes most natives restless, but it just makes me lethargic. So by 4 pm (100º!) I was zombified.
And now I’m sick.
Was it the poor night’s sleep? Doubtful.
Was it a psychosomatic reaction to spending so many hours with prepubescent boys? Getting closer.
Was it the shock to my system of being exposed to actual sunlight? Possibly.
Or maybe I just have Swine Flu. The world may never know.
P.S. Last night I got a long stick and whacked the fan a few times before going to bed. Voilà! No more clicking.