Tonight Kanye West performed at the Grammy awards with "Mama" shaved into his head. It was, of course, a tribute to his mother who passed away just a couple months ago.
That is why we've decided to shave El Guille's head with the word "Mami", because I am at death's door.
I haven't been this sick in years; this is my first time being so sick I couldn't even care for my children, so sick I couldn’t even watch TV! Remember all those times when I scoffed at the flu vaccine? Oh, I did, and crow tastes awful. I excused myself from work a little early Friday night when the chills were making it hard to concentrate. I had that terrible feeling while driving home that I probably shouldn't be driving. I slid into bed as soon as I got home and well...I think I writhed with fever for the next two days.
Aches, chills, hot sweats, exhaustion, sore throat, hacking cough, congestion, I'm just a big bag of hotness right now. A silver lining: Other Half cleaned the whole house and finished all the laundry. Major propers to him. Usually he says, along with most of male-dom, “Don’t worry about it!” by which they mean, “Don’t worry about it, because I don’t worry about it. I won’t actually do anything, but I don’t want you to have to worry about it.” This time he stepped up and made it happen (at least I think it was him, I was too out of it to really understand what all that clanging and vacuuming was all about.)
I've mostly lost my voice, and when it does come back, it hurts too much to talk. Other Half and I often have deep discussions on life, the universe, and everything after. Tonight, during an impromptu debate on evolution, I had to whisper out my arguments. When even that began to hurt, I eventually had to just change the subject, "Hey, I really don't like basketball."
My brain works OK when fever is under control, but the rest of my body is mounting a convincing revival of La bohème. Maybe they’ll start to put up street signs and messages spelled out with plastic cups overpasses begging people to hold vigil for me, which would be awesome. I have about 2 minutes of lucidity left before my medicine wears off and I become prostrate once again.
Seriously, having to lay down for two hours for every 5 minutes of stand up time isn't all it's cracked up to be. I am terrified of being alone at home tomorrow with just me and the babes. I can only snap at El Guille with my actual fingers. With my voice gone, I resort to a four-year-old's version of charades to get him to do my bidding. I hope he and the baby don't duel at forty paces while I'm passed out on the couch.
So forgive me if I don’t call you, or appear in public, because talking hurts and I’m infectious. I live a glamorous life, simply g-l-a-m-o-r-o-u-s.