Isn’t it ironic how when we begin a cold, on our way down we hit a certain stage of illness where we operate at 80% efficiency and we moan about how I feel just awful, awful. Then when we hit the same efficiency level on the way to getting well again, we rejoice and say, Isn’t it wonderful! I feel so good!
It’s all relative.
I went out to pick up a Coke at the corner store, and snowflakes kissed my cheek.
Even winter, on her way out, says hello, nice to see you about again.
After waking up with a low-grade fever yesterday morning and exhibiting even lower energy than I’d had all week, HRH forbade me to go out for my Sunday afternoon class and ordered me back to bed. I slept until we had to leave for our scheduled dinner with my in-laws, where I sat zoning out in the rocking chair with a quilt over my legs. Matching socks after a load of laundry was pretty much all I could manage to do. Bless them, they fed me and lit candles in the living room and understood.
When we got home I caught the sixth end of the Brier final, assumed all was lost, and took a bath. I emerged just in time to see the tenth end, where Dacey stuck it to Ferby after something apparently miraculous happened in the three ends I’d missed. That final end was sweet and more than made up for last year’s disappointment. I cried.
So today I actually feel human once more, thank goodness. After a week of not being able to do much more than sit staring at a box of Kleenex (a heartfelt apology to all my students, but I honestly don’t remember teaching the two classes I did last week), I’ve touched base with my publisher, and I foresee a huge push forward on the Brighid book today.
And… I’m hungry. Glory be, I’m actually hungry. I’m so sick of tea and juice and water and toast that I might do something reckless today like have a piece of chocolate. Or a soda. I think my taste buds are back in the game.
‘Tis the birthday of the reknowned Tal today. There’s the usual birthday thang over at the Irish pub. Thing is, it’s a Friday night, and Friday nights are always busy at the pub. It’s also St Patrick’s Day weekend here in Montreal, known for its hard-core green insanity. And as the icing on the cake, the Toronto Maple Leafs are in town to play the Montreal Canadiens.
And me with my crowd thing? Yeah, right.
I’ve decided to go, then changed my mind half a dozen times now. I mean, it’s Tal’s birthday – I have to at least stop by. Downtown will be the beginnings of a madhouse, though. The pub will be solid people from wall to wall.
Why, oh, why didn’t we think of this earlier? Why, oh, why didn’t we act in a sane and reasonable fashion and say, no, let’s celebrate on the Monday after?
My cold’s reached the point of rare coughs. The coughs have given me a nasty headache, however, and the thought of walking into the loud pub in my state makes me whimper and wish for my head to be safely underneath my pillow. At least there I’ll be comfortable when I cough and split my head in two.
See? I’m firmly in the camp of No Way Am I Going at the moment. If I wait long enough, I’ll think that the pub won’t be bad, a cider would be nice, it’s not cold outside, and go to put my shoes on again. And then I’ll imagine the roar of music and voices hitting me as I open the pub door, and I’ll cringe again.
I’ve just missed my second bus downtown. I wonder what camp I’ll occupy when the next one rolls by in half an hour.
I spent the afternoon finally loading up the rest of the articles over at Owldaughter – Read as well as mirroring them at Owldaughter – Believe. I’d been holding off because, in uncharacteristically poor academic ettiquette, when I wrote my original articles I forgot to note down my sources. There was no way in heck I was going to post articles that clearly used sources other than my own brain and not cite them. So this afternoon I spent frustrating amounts of time sorting through Celtic reference sites, looking for articles that seemed familiar.
I found them, in the end, and I’ve posted pretty much everything to Owldaughter. My next project involves coding and uploading my Pagan book reviews, and submitting the review page URL to Witchvox as a review site.
I feel cross-eyed but satisfied with my work.
From an author’s website:
This book focuses on 25 artists from the Untied States and 25 artists from 12 other countries.
Ah, the irony.
The cold proceeds apace, oh joy; I’m at the hacking cough stage now. I made myself take a walk in the spring sun yesterday and stopped in at the Co-op Vert to pick up organic ginger tea and a hazelnut bread, which is so incredibly delicious that it doesn’t need butter. It has whole hazelnuts in it, and it’s made with fine whole-wheat flour and molasses. Mmm.
Rehearsal last night was absolutely disastrous. It was the diametrical opposite of the previous practice: stumbling, wincing, and amateur. On top of it all, that guy who never shuts up kept talking behind me. I thought I would strangle him. The only thing that got me through the night was knowing that when I got home, I would have chocolate ice cream and watch Angel. Except when I got home, there were two episodes of Smallville back to back, and no Angel in sight.
I went to bed and sulked.
Tonight I teach the second half of my spellcasting class. It’s certainly different this time around: I’m teaching two good Catholic girls who are interested in learning how to use magic within a Christian context. It’s quite a relief to speak in the terms of one religion while doing this class instead of saying “however you perceive the Divine” all the time. It’s also so nice to hear people say that they believe this power comes from God, and they seek to use it in a positive context. I always enjoy this class, and to be able to teach it without fielding odd questions is a lovely bonus.
I hate being sick.