Wednesday, September 5, 2012

Y2 Day 7: My Brilliant Day

6:30 a.m.: Wake with pounding migraine. Take drugs, apply cold wet washcloth to forehead, recline, pray.

7:10 a.m.: Rise, shower, note that migraine has not subsided. Eschew thyroid pill for fear of barfing it back up.

7:55 a.m.: Get in Honda (with glowing red battery light and death-wish alternator), cross fingers that it will start. It does. Keep fingers crossed that it will make it all the way to Grey-Patti Automotive. It does. Give Cutie-Patti my keys, begin A Long Walk Home. (Husband had to dash to Northeastern at dawn and couldn't help me. His day was terrible too, but he can write his own blog.)

Walk, walk, walk, trying not to barf, and dreading climbing my Big Hill.

8:15 a.m.: Spot Mr. C, former Dallin School principal and current neighbor, coming out of D'Agostino's Deli with a bunch of bananas; beg him for ride. He complies nicely enough, albeit with some puzzlement.

8:20 a.m.: Drink coffee, try to keep it down (the caffeine will help my migraine though the coffee may ravage my upset stomach — a trade-off). Sit and stare vacantly for next few hours while migraine meds finally, finally do their job.

10:30 a.m.: Address the situation with Big Red, which I didn't mention last night: On the way home from zumba, a light appeared on the dashboard: a golden-hued exclamation point! I hoped it meant that the car was excited. Alas. It means that the pressure is low in one of the tires, "which is highly dangerous and must be addressed immediately," cautioned the manual.

Li'l Martini (who desperately needs a haircut) and I headed to our local gas station to gauge the air pressure, which I don't actually know how to do, so I had to convey to the charming young African man with the huge smile and the tiny English-language knowledge what I needed. But he was great, quickly discerning that it was the back left tire that was the problem. However, we couldn't get it to hold air, and the stupid light wouldn't go off. I resigned myself to sending my boy to his first day of  middle school looking like Shaggy . . . but after we drove for a block, the light finally doused itself. Eureka! My day got much better . . . for a time.

Noon: Haircut, lunches, visit from Martini's besty HoneyBear, combing out Mimosa's freshly washed waist-long tangled red curls.

1 p.m.: Lie on bed (migraine meds make me sleeeeeeepy) watching Go, a foul-mouthed little gem recommended by Brunie. Great fun.

3:45 p.m.: Take Mimosa to the high school to watch her hopefully-future-team play volleyball (we both thought it would make a good impression on the coach if she showed some team spirit). Sit on dirty gym floor (my feet kept falling asleep), look spirited, root root root for the home team. It is unclear whether Coach Peach saw us.

4:45 p.m.: Drive to rental car place, return Big Red. Say goodbye to $250.

4:50 p.m.: Walk to Grey-Patti, three blocks away. Pick up my car. Say goodbye to $350.

5 p.m.: Arrive home, collapse with Diet Pepsi.

We're now going out to dinner, our Last Night of Summer Meal, and then we'll play a million games and then clip fingernails and clean ears and all that, and tuck two tuckered tootsie-pops into bed at a reasonable hour. And tomorrow — a great year of learning commences!

Or something like that.

Happy official last day of summer vacation!

—Lady C

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