The blog responsibilities backlog started the week before last. Check this, do that, post here, check out comments, check out sites, comment here, like there… dammitdammitdammit I’m still stuck on this manuscript, what the hell is-
Cough, hack *wheeze*
I look at Sara, who appears less than her usual bouncy self. “Are you okay, honey?”
She shakes her head.
After a few days of chasing a random fever and staying home Tuesday and Thursday, the doctor rules “viral infection” which translates to “suck it up, you’re not getting off this ride until it’s done.”
My foot cramps up in an odd way on Friday when I step on an uneven piece of floor – not in an “JESUSISHTARANDBUDDHASOMEONEJUSTCUTOFFMYLEGNOW!!!!” charley-horse kind of way, but in a “That doesn’t feel good. Did I just break my foot or something like what you hear happens to older folks just walking along and then *bam!* they get a hairline fracture or something?” kind of way. The next day I awake in bed in the morning as per usual, but my rear feels like someone’s been ruthlessly sticking their elbow all over my gluts, seeking trigger points with the heartlessness of a neuromuscular assassin.
Obviously the recent changes in physical activity have taken their toll. With the Christmas break downtime and then the change in my kids morning schedule, we’re not walking to school anymore. We drive because Sara has a book club thing 30 minutes before school now. Daniel is a little behind his in reading, so while Sara bee-bops into an accelerated reading class, Daniel and I sit in the car and read about space and the universe and planet building stuff for the 30 minutes before school starts (22F or -5C is a long time to wait without some form of shelter).
This is all a very long way of saying I’m no longer walking 2-4 miles a day, 5 days a week on average, which apparently now that I’m 40 is a big no-no. “Thou must do something worky-outy daily, or risk decrepitude” seems to be the message.
“Well, it’s not like I’m writing or anything,” I mutter. “Sure, let’s change up the schedule to fit in an hour or two to accommodate physical fitness needs.”
The weather hits. Monday school is cancelled. Which means I need to keep 2 children from driving me insane, both of whom are at some level of sickness, as we are cooped up in a house to avoid crazy drivers and crappy roads.
I start coughing and craving orange juice. The craving 9 times out of 10 means I’m getting sick. I don’t know why, but I only crave orange juice when I’m sick. Who says kids don’t know how to share?
Oh, yeah. I did say I was going to help judge that Arts and Sciences competition. And because of my background, I’ve been given the 20+ page paper on crossbows, the history and making of. That I need to read, critique and score by Friday so I can go on-site Saturday and review at least 2 more items in person.
Tuesday school is already scheduled “off” (presumably for some mystical teacher work-day thingy).
My manuscripts are mocking me.
And there’s more dance props to build for my daughter’s studio. And to keep my son from feeling left out (because his granddad has to take him to meetings because I have to take Sara to dance at the exact same time every week), I informed his troop/den/whatever-they-are that I can help cut-out their pinewood derby cars 2 different Saturdays this month if there are parents lacking tools and/or know-how.
I think today’s insecurity is that I’m not going to get a damn thing done or published until the kids graduate high school. In another 11 years.
Was that my hip?
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