Since it is New Year’s Eve, the last day of 2009, I thought it might be appropriate to ignore it completely and write whatever happens to be on my mind. Which is not New Year’s Eve at all.
Really, nothing is on my mind right now. My mind is so shot from Christmas that I challenge you to see if even 50% of these sentences are coherent—least of all in English. Alkfdhkh’asdfksdjhfjdj ksdjflsdk. Sorry. Turrets.
My mom saw the writing on the wall on Tuesday and offered to take Drew home with her yesterday to spend the night. “So you can recover from Christmas,” she had said. (Granted, I did have a bad cold.) She took him home with her after lunch and that’s when the un-productivity began. Only I, with my very sensitive guilt reflex, would try to be productive while sick.
My intentions were good: do a little writing, a little work, work out, maybe even get a pedicure and begin my novel. After all, I had the whole afternoon. My theory is if you give every mommy in the world a free afternoon on the same day, just watch the cancer cure itself and world peace descend. But I, apparently, would be of no help. I ended up reading a few magazines, talking to a friend on the phone and falling asleep on the couch. I was recovering from Christmas, after all. But you know you’re in a bad spot when you can’t even muster the work ethic to go sit in a salon and get pampered.
Since mom was keeping Drew overnight, this meant Gordon and I had an instantaneous date night, which we could not waste on leftovers and Seinfeld reruns. So despite the fact that we were both plugged up with mucus from our ears down to our toes and coughing like a couple of plague-ridden peasants out of Dickens, we hit the town. We didn’t talk much. Or cuddle much. We couldn’t really taste our dinner and the movie we had in our sights—Avatar—wasn’t playing until 10:20, which, as all of you know who are over 30, is way too late.
We ended up seeing NINE at the Movie Tavern. I have nothing against movie taverns, but why must we go up four escalators? Why is the screen so small? Why is that girl next to me glaring every time I cough? It’s not like I’m hacking up a lung directly over her chips and queso. Well. I suppose the world just isn’t ready for my virus and me to make public appearances. Narrow-minded hate mongers…
Drew comes back later today. I’m thinking after I post this blog, I’ll hit the gym and then get that pedicure. Ugh. What I really OUGHT to do is take the ornaments off the tree and get the boxes for the decorations down from the attic. Or read that book I have to review. Or iron those two pairs of jeans that have been sitting on my window seat since last week and are looking at me accusingly. Turns out the burden of having so much free time is almost not worth it. (Let me reiterate the word “almost.”)
Maybe when Drew gets back, I can finally relax.
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