Never a waitress when you need one

This morning I'm still recovering from the flu.  Bad flu. Bad.  It came on slowly Thanksgiving morning. I felt a dryness and scratch at the back of my throat.  Hmmm.  Did I sneeze a lot yesterday? I had my flu shot and felt I could work through this thing with little problem.  BUT NO, post dinner and pre-pumpkin pie I was down like a rock. As hostess I tried to socialize with Jackie while laying on the couch, rubbing my forehead and rattling-on like a crazy person. I fear I exposed everyone at the table and feel just horrible. I've had very little sleep.  My ribcage is tender and I have to pause with each step while coughing up a lung. If I don't get better by tomorrow I will plant my butt in the cold waiting room chairs at the doctor's office. Just what I need, another doctor visit.  I never know what to take for the flu.  I never get any real relief from the over-the-counter remedies. It's all too complicated.  So many to choose from, and me with a headache and trying desperately not to sneeze, cough and dribble all over the other customers.  Last week I was indignant when a woman approached the counter where I was enjoying a cool glass of water while waiting for my lunch and she started coughing all over my glass. She said it didn't matter, she didn't have a cold or anything.  I glared at her, got up and moved to another seat, to Tom's amusement. I think the bartender thought "I" was the jerk.  He had a waitress follow her to her table to assure she was okay. What  I need is a waitress. Serve me hot lemon water and extra strength Tylenol.

Gobble gobble gobble.......treat

 

Headliner: Annie and the Three Little Girls

 This morning I wonder what I did yesterday. This little memory lapse makes my husband more interesting. If I can't remember yesterday I can't be bored with today. Turning 59 was very uneventful, I think. I could have partied all night long, I don't know. I do know that I'm pleased as punch to be here and am looking forward to many more uneventful birthdays. My dementia doesn't scare me.  I pass it off as Chemo-Brain but know it's just lazy brain. If I really work hard I can conjure up memories and even invent a few. I've actually had to suppress a few made up ones. I understand, now, how mom got all her degrees, traveled the world and met so many interesting people. I fancied I was a rock star in my past life, or maybe a night club singer, before my memory challenged my memories. Looking back, yeah, there I am, singing along to the car radio, the taste of exhaust in my mouth, road dirt billowing in through the back window, my posse' of three lovely young ladies joining me in song. Eyes full of tears as the fumes blinded us on I-5 - headed towards any new destination. We were rock stars, survivors of the late sixties "Annie and the three little girls". 

Big green bags - not just for yard clippings anymore.

So many little things. Papers, paperclips, pennies, gum wrappers, notebooks, hairpins, birthday cards, key chains, socks, fanny packs, paycheck stubs, invoices, work notes, phone numbers and business cards, pens, lip gloss, safety pins, post its, gloves, plastic flowers, fun-run T-shirts, belts, wallets, receipts, warranties,  cassett tapes, envelopes, old bills, earrings, beads, pain relievers, hand warmers, rocks, comb, quarters, doo-dads, thing-a-majig, this and that.  What am I doing with all this crazy stuff?

Maybe it's because it's my birthday tomorrow or because I'm feeling better. Perhaps I'm just tired of moving this stuff around or because I can't find Tom's birth certificate. It could be the time change. I know I just don't know why this stuff is in my drawers,stacked in closet, spilling out of tupperware in my garage.OUT!GET OUT!  Purge, dump, and recycle.  Old shoes, short skirts, silk blouses and felt hats.  Weird shoes, where did these shoes come from?  I bought these shoes?  What was I thinking?  I brought all this stuff into my home. It's all going.