it's alive, sort of
Tuesday, jan. 9, 2007 | 0 comments
I took a shower today! And put on real clothes! With zippers and hooks! And I even went on a short, short walk! Also there was only an hour’s worth of jack-hammering today!
So I guess I’m feeling better, though I tell you, the world is still a very strange, muffled, sweaty place. And there’s still a revolving bouquet of used tissues on my bedside table, yay. Hack, hack, hack!
still, still, still sicko
Monday, jan. 8, 2007 | 0 comments
Oh man, this cold. I spent Friday and Saturday night on the couch just so my coughing wouldn’t keep Marco awake (and because I secretly love sleeping on couches…something about that tall, padded wall on one side, like sleeping in a cushy clam), but last night I was feeling slightly better so I rolled into bed only to wake up and find Marco out on the couch: apparently I coughed and coughed all night long (all night), all night long (all night!), which I vaguely remember, though I think I thought it was just a dream about choking and death. The barrier between reality and that peculiar repetitive anxious torture dream-state is porous indeed these sick days and nights.
Between all my endless napping in strange formations on the couch and bed and floor, I’ve also managed to put a horrendous crick in my neck, so my torso, shoulders, neck, and head are all moving like one fused log. And I’ve been wearing the sad, schlumpy clothing of the ill for almost a full week now, nothing but sweatpants and sweat-like pants, and socks with four inches of flopping, loose toe, and no bra: udderly fantastic. Also my grey hairs have leapt from “sprinkling” to “going grey” since last Wednesday. And PG&E just started their two-month jack-hammer project out in front of the apartment.
boy wonder
Friday, jan. 5, 2007 | 0 comments
Seven or so years ago, I gifted upon my goddaughter, Lulu, a pair of glittery red bathing suit bottoms, along with a miniature kimono I bought in Japantown. (“What if it turns out to be a girl?” the grandmother asked me at the baby shower, and I said, “Even BETTER!”) When Lulu grew out of them, Dinah wore them, and then baby Rex got his turn.
Rex is four now, well past the recommended age range for the bathing suit. But still, when his mother Sophia told him to “go put some pants on,” just look what he came up with:
Photos courtesy of Marco.
sicko!
Thursday, jan. 4, 2007 | 0 comments
On Tuesday, in a cliched nod to the New Year and all the clean-slatedness that it implies, I dusted off the old pilates DVD and did some languid crunching and stretching. Then yesterday I awoke to find my body in a red tangle of soreness, the kind that jabs whenever you laugh (and I had lunch with Maggie yesterday, which meant there was much laughing). Ah exercise, I remember you now. And then, at about 3pm I suddenly started feeling those first tendrils of ill, the throat tickle, the visions of bed dancing in my swimming head. Oh, sigh. Is it possible that I finally, finally caught this wretched cold that everyone’s been talking about? I lurched for home and climbed right under the covers, and when I awoke a few hours later it was dark and I was officially sick. Pilates sore and skin-achy: what a terrible kick-off for the new year. Even my ears hurt! Cough, hiss.
a great chance to do a small something
Wednesday, jan. 3, 2007 | 0 comments
Yay! At long last, the fantastically heartwarming Kim Family Benefit Art + Craft Auction is now open for bidding, and it’s packed with precious donations from some of the best crafters out there — what an amazing group of lovely, generous, caring, talented people! And bidding is already at a frenzied pitch, which truly toasts my ticker.
I’m particularly piqued by Ann Wood’s wonderful Fortitude ship (something about it just embodies the dreamy, static-haired absorption of a full day of bed-bound childhood reading), and the sumptious Paala grey wool dress from Janna Stark, and ooh Annie Galvin’s Sutro Tower painting, just to name a few of the many items that sorely tempt me — really, everything there is ridiculously covet-able.
