My second day home sick parked miserable on the sofa with this miserable head cold, miserable swollen glands, miserable sore throat. Miserable. Tea and lozenges keeping company, Eadie draped across, and Ravel on the radio. Actually it's Dvorak today; Ravel was yesterday. Head pounding when I cough. I look forward to chicken soup for lunch. After debacle yesterday I'm taking it even slower today. Yesterday: After a morning of head cold miserability I took a shower mid morning to feel better and I did. Feeling better, I braved a slow walk to the Shaw's for oj replenishment and potatoes for chicken vegetable soup. Got home and started the soup, sick-person mis-intuited, oil was too hot for the onions so got splatter-burned on lip, neck and wrist. Big ouch. Finished making the soup, drank juice, crashed exhausted back on the sofa. Ice on the burns all afternoon but they hurt like heck. More ibuprofen. Better today. Cancel the skin graft. My sister scolded: "No more cooking when you're sick!" That's why she's the older sister. But could have been worse. The windows were open all day and the sun was shining. And the mango sorbet w/ fresh farmers' market strawberries made a mighty fine sick-person's dessert, if I say so myself. I had finished all of my soup, after all, and eaten three bites of dry toast.
Today: Red came scratching to visit via the basement door and slightly confused. Naturally I invited her in, but to our misfortune Eadie was not so welcoming and chased her screaming behind the tub. <sigh> Human intervention interceded to calm them both, and Red was returned gratefully happily relieved to her fresh air perch on the bulkhead roof. Lucky girl. All was forgotten as soon as the fresh morning breeze brushed her nose. Cancel the psychoanalysis. Eadie was sent to her room, wherever that is. Actually I think it was the Dvorak that set things off. Can bring out paranoia and chase in anyone. Mae prefers watching dogs on the Purina commercial when the sound is off. I prefer chocolate. Head seems even more achy than yesterday if that's possible. I'm thinking Ravel has better clarifying properties. In addition to inducing chase, Dvorak can be kind of stuffy. I may end up phoning the station. You'd think it would be the opposite: French, stuffy; Czech, free-flowing Bohemian…. Must be about the era: romantic vs. impressionistic. Now that's scintillating for a bored, sick person to deliberate. Things just got looser in the 20th century. And look where we are today — completely unscrupulous cadences everywhere you listen. Remarkable.
But. The sun is finally coming out, they have just switched to Stravinsky (Oy vey) and maybe if I close my puffy eyes, I'll hear Ravel and unscrupulous clarity regardless.
