So if you’re my friend on Facebook, you might have noticed the wee bit of whining I’ve been doing about being sick. I haven’t been sick in two freaking years, and I get knocked down with some sort of Murphy’s Law virus three days before a concert I’m to play in. (At least I’m “healthy”…if you know Kelley from Magneto Bold Too, she just had a freaking stroke. She’s 36. I really have no room to complain. Go over there and share that brassy Aussie some love. And use your potty mouth.) So I’ve been whining a fair bit. My “I refuse to get sick” Brew from Robin isn’t working, the vile tasting Cold Nip from my acupuncturist, which usually bitch slaps anything that comes near me, ran yelping with its tail between its legs, and I’m surviving on mashed potatoes and chicken broth with rice. Did you know that taking significantly more than the recommended amount of ibuprofin will actually cause swelling to go down, increase the possibility of swallowing, and generally make the world a slightly happier place? Shhh…don’t tell anyone, it can be our little secret.
See, there’s a reason I haven’t been sick for two years. I’m not allowed to get sick. The world caves in, stars fall from the sky, and the world spins backwards on its axis. Dogs and cats, living together…mass hysteria! I am convinced that my husband is incapable of accepting that I might actually get sick. And might actually need someone to take care of me (God help me if I were to have a stroke). I won’t get into details, but I was about to throw his ass out on the street this morning…6:30 this morning, to be exact. That he is still here is testament to the wonders of ibuprofin (it’ll make you shoot rainbows out your ass!) and the fact that he appears to caught on that I’m pissed and he’s stayed in his office all day. I’ve been flat on the couch for two full days, trying to let the Murphy’s Law virus run its course quickly because I have to play this concert. Because of my forced rest (and may I please go on the record as saying I’D MUCH RATHER BE HEALTHY, because a four year old who has stolen the remote and is addicted to SpongeBob makes for funky illness dreams when you pass out) and the ibuprofin (clears your skin, makes your hair shiny!), I’m reasonably sure I can get through the dress rehearsal this evening. Another day of crashed on the couch, begging for the Murphy’s Law virus to be gone, along with more mass quantities of ibuprofin (shrinks your butt, improves your mood), I think I’ll make it through the concert tomorrow.
The disatrous house and husband who just doesn’t get it…well…I’m sure Murphy and his little Law are working on those next. And ibuprofin won’t fix those.
Hang in there sweetie. Get through the dress rehearsal and the concert, and then Sunday head for the hills. Ditch the husband and kids and go sit in a coffee shop all day and leave him to fend for himself (and them) all by his lonesome.
wouldn’t it be nice to have a Sub-Line to call into? Gosh, I’d pay big bucks.
Shrinks your butt? Really? Heck of a lot easier than the million squats I’ve been doing.