Monday, December 24, 2012

Y2 Day 116: Yesterday Once More

This may be the weirdest pre-Christmas period of my life. From grotesque to sublime, hideous to delightful, lather, rinse, repeat.

I'm worried about something that is making me anxious, which then goes right to my stomach, which has been dodgy all weekend. Which is sad because I go to these holiday parties, with huge spreads of yummy-looking food . . . and I just pick. Which is better for me overall, probably, but still — so sad. Sexy Em had a chocolate fountain at her party today, and I just looked at it. (Though I did sample her mom's amazing homemade shortbread. And ate ham.)

But yesterday I had lunch with my dear elderly friend Mrs. Professor, and it was such a joy to spend time with her. She has this fantastic sardonic wit, and she's very smart and insightful; we had an amazing talk and roared with laughter . . .

. . . and then I came home and worked for eleven hours. I had three editing jobs to finish, and one in particular was really really hard. (It's about genetic engineering, and I am just not a science girl; it takes a lot of concentration. But . . . it's fascinating, I'll say that.) And coffee helped me muscle through — eleven hours of coffee — so when I finished around 10 p.m. I was vibrating with caffeine and couldn't close my eyes for another six hours . . .

. . . which worked out okay, because Mimosa began whimpering at 2 a.m.; she's got some kind of stomach bug, and she hates, loathes, and fear throwing up more than almost anything in the world (my dad is the same way — me, I can throw up on a dime), so she was having a panic attack. I got her cleaned up and calmed down, and today she seemed better, but tonight she's sick again.

And so am I; my dinner of leftover mac & cheese and a hot dog and a good slice of homemade red velvet cake did not sit well with me at all and came right back up . . . which makes me fear I also have the bug and might have to miss most if not all of our planned Christmas Eve festivities tomorrow.

BUT: We also threw Li'l Martini's birthday party tonight, and it was awesome. Five boys in fedoras, with candy cigarettes sticking out of their mouths, bidding and raising and folding and bluffing . . . you could die of the cuteness. (I've known these boys almost since babyhood; to me, they are eternally eight years old, round-cheeked and adorable.) My mom had sent him a pack of oversize playing cards (the size of a smallish coffee table book), which I used for decorations; I also tossed handfuls of Hanukkah gelt on the table and put the candy cigarettes in shot glasses, and it all looked great.

And then Mimosa and I cuddled in bed and watched Miracle on 34th Street (the original) and It's a Wonderful Life back to back, which was lovely . . .

. . . until the throwing up. Though I do feel better now; I cling to the hope that anxiety and Wrong Food were the culprits rather than virus. Send a good thought, won't you?

Tomorrow I plan to sleep in and then sit in my comfy green armchair and read, as long as I want to. I have to wrap presents and buy the marinated steak tips for our Christmas dinner, but other than that I am the proverbial Freebird . . .

. . . which I will repeat to myself as I breathe in and out, slowly, calmly.




—Lady C-bird

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