I got a snow day on Thursday - yay me! The roads to and from most of our houses to our office were impassable (most of us live 35-45 minutes away), so about half of the way to the office, my co-worker called me and told me to go home. So I did.
I went back to town, finished my Christmas shopping before the roads got too bad, and headed home to enjoy my now 4-day holiday weekend. I wrapped gifts, and put them under the tree, then decided to go do some quilting on two quilts I’m making for wedding gifts. I had big plans to finish one quilt top this weekend (30 complete blocks, I’ve done 4), and get a good start on the other.
Thursday afternoon, I started feeling yucky. Then my sinuses became congested. Then they became REALLY congested and I started running a fever. Well, hell. So I figured I was getting a cold. I took a nap in the afternoon, got up for dinner and felt better. So I hung out with my husband the rest of the night.
Got up the next morning - felt like death. Absolute death. Stuffy head-cold, couldn’t breathe, my chest hurt to breathe, and I was alternating cold sweats with cold chills. My loving husband made several runs for orange juice, tissues, and Tylenol Cold during the day, and I forced myself to get up and fix the planned Christmas Eve dinner of sauerkraut balls (no wise-ass comments - they’re GOOD!), Italian sausage linguine, and baklava. About halfway through the baklava, I started feeling a little faint, but I pushed on until it was done. (Mr. e. had already warned me not to worry about dinner if I still felt bad, but since it was our first Christmas together, I was trying to make it special). We ate (well, he ate, I shoved down a couple of bites), and then opened one gift each before I went to bed and promptly fell asleep, only to thrash around most of the night in apparent feverish dreams.
Christmas Day, we got up and I made French toast (again, mr. e. told me not to worry, but I was too wrapped up in our Martha Stewart First Christmas vision to listen), and opened presents. That part was nice, as I got to see the look on my husband’s face when he opened the business card I’d found on eBay from Bennett Cerf of What’s My Line fame. Then we started getting ready to go to the in-laws for more presents and dinner. Needless to say, I got knocked on my ass again, and needed a nap before we left. We made it over there about 3:30, and I’m not sure how I made it through the entire day.
Yesterday, I did relax, but apparently, it wasn’t enough. I stayed on the couch the entire day playing the Sims 2 or reading or watching the Simpsons Season 5 with mr. e. And today, I got up to come to work. I’ve still got a killer cough - I keep coughing and coughing and my throat catches so that I sound like my grandfather when he wakes up.
1 PM, and I’m already fading fast. And I can’t help but wonder if I’d taken it easy on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day like my husband told me to instead of running after this vision of a Perfect First Christmas, if I’d be feeling better today than I am. I hate to ask my boss to leave early, as I’m only in my fifth week of employment, but she’s pretty easy-going, and if I skip lunch today and tomorrow, I can make it up. So I pit myself for being a Christmas overachiever - it’s all my own damn fault.
And you know what? I pit that bitch Martha Stewart for making me feel like I have to put together a perfect Christmas when mr. e. would have been perfectly happy with Spam and eggs (he makes it, I don’t), and a cuddle in front of A Christmas Story. So fuck you, Martha! I hope Christmas in prison was good for you!
So next year, fuck this shit. We’re going to Mexico for Christmas.
E.
