Thursday, March 10, 2011

My square....

The original title of this post was going to be Calling in dead...(or homicidal)...

All day (last) Sunday had me thinking that I was getting some kind of deadly illness.

And the more I thought about "it" the worse I felt.

If I think about The Secret...I have asked (by my obsessing over it) The Universe for a virus.

It always seems to listen to (and grant me) my negative "wishes" (not technically wishes, but hey what does a universe know about differentiating...?)

So where is The Secret of The Universe when I'm playing a slot machine...

or the Lottery?

I don't play either much...just sayin.

I don't like being sick...I don't have time to be sick (who does..?)

By Monday, I wasn't just thinking I was getting a virus... it had officially arrived.

And I was miserable.

Daddio accuses me of having a "man cold".

He likes to make jokes about how seriously I take my cold viruses.

I could possibly deliver vaginally a 15 pound child with horns for ears more easily than I can navigate a three day long cold virus.... (yeah, he thinks up some good ones).

You may remember me writing that he has absolutely no (nada, zilch) sympathy gene..

You can read about his badassness here...

Monday night, found me laying in bed, wearing a flowing white gown, a red rose between my praying hands.

While nearing (what felt like the end of my life) taking my last earthly breath I asked Daddio to rub my aching head.

"Why can't I just rub where I can reach?" he asked.

"Because those body parts don't hurt" I answer.

He rubs my forehead and instead of dying, I fall asleep.

After a fitful night I wake to face Tuesday.

Working with a cold virus sucks...especially when you work mostly with wild animals who are known to smell weakness (in any form).

These past few days have been hard.

The loveable dynamic has shifted yet again.

We are overtaxed with tall boys who's shoe size possibly equal, or may even be greater than their IQ score.

Wednesday, in the jungle forest where I hang 9-5, I am small, a tiny wilted flower surrounded by sequoias.

Big tall trees that suck up all the light and the air.

I've been offered back up by staff who aren't with our program.

"Remember, I got yer back" ... says the man who cares for our building.

He walks out of his office when he hears a commotion in the hallway.

And his evil eye sends a message to the loveables ordering them to obey my command.

I'm feeling much stronger this Thursday morning.

"You back on your square*?" I will be asked as I pass by the man who cares for our building, the one who has my back.

"I'm soooo back on my square I'm ready to play hopscotch." I'll answer.

And I'll try hard all day long to believe it.

*Off your square: out of you're usual routine; doing things you wouldn't normally do. Source Urban Dictionary

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