Blergh

In one of my Green’s Hill Werewolf stories, (I think it’s Changing,) I bring up the concept of “bad shit” anniversaries.  Really bad stuff happened to Cory in Wounded, and when that same time of the year rolls around in Changing, everybody is bound and determined to keep Cory out of the fight on the anniversary of the bad shit that happened in Wounded.  This pisses Cory off to no end, of course, and then, when bad shit does go down, she’s all the way across the county, being taken care of while two of her husbands and her friends are in the middle of a bullet storm.

Bracken has it under control, of course, but he does have one of my favorite lines of all times.  “You think you’re a big thing, little man? What you think of as a bloody corporate takeover is really a domestic dispute of biblical proportions, and you’re in the middle.”  (I probably mangled that– but I was channeling Bracken when he said it so I’m calling it a win.)

Anyway– when I wrote that story, I was mostly being tongue in cheek.  For some reason my entire family– mom, dad, first round of kids– had gotten really sick in February for, like three years running.  One year, I remember bleaching furniture, because literally all we as a family was flop around in our own sweat like dying fish– for a week. Another year, I actually escaped the plague, but I spent two days putting cold peas on Big T and Chicken, while they did their dying fish impersonation all on their own.

I did not expect that idea of “bad shit anniversaries” to follow me through one set of kids to another, and to take root firmly in November.

When Zoomboy was born, he was exactly on time, and Strep D positive (we shall not go into the story of one more doctor not listening when Mate and I said “Please don’t put fat pregnant woman on her back! Her labor will stall!” And then labor progresses like a freight train once they let me get up.)  His blood sugar dropped, he started to get listless, and he spent five days in NICU because he just wasn’t waking up.

So we got him home, and there was this month of terror– we knew he’d be susceptible to every bug in the world, so we didn’t take him anywhere. We were afraid he’d stop waking up again.

Well… November has become our new bad shit anniversary.  If our family is going to catch anything at any time, it’s going to be during October/November.

Four years ago when I’d just gotten pulled out of my classroom, I got sick almost immediately.  I’ve been sick pretty much every November since.  This year, it was a pinched nerve in my shoulder followed by a cold, and now Zoomboy shares my pain, and we’re both useless lumps of flesh lolling about the house while the rest of the world zooms around us.

The worst thing about this is that there is a whole lot of stuff I want to get done.

The best thing about this is that I feel no guilt for not getting it done.  Example?  My deadline for Amy’s Lane came and went, and I didn’t notice for five days.  I’m going to get it up next week– and hopefully stop forgetting it after that– but I’m saying, that’s the sort of thing that goes on during a bad shit anniversary.

Today I should have been writing Amy’s Lane, and Mate wanted to go see Big Hero 6. Of course we saw the movie.  I huddled into my cardigan and let ZB cuddle with me (after I fed him a Motrin) and knitted because honestly, it was easier than saying, “No, I don’t feel good enough to go anywhere.”  I’m glad I did, because Big Hero 6? Worth it– but you see what I mean?  Big T asked me a question about literature and I drew a big blank and said, “I can’t brain today I have the dumb.”  He thought I was making fun of him, but then I spent the next five minutes staring into space, so I think he realized I was telling the truth.

Anyway– the one thing I did manage to do this weekend was take Squish to a birthday party at Berry Jello’s place (and we were going to go out to a friend’s dinner afterwards, but I felt way too icky to even think about it, and so did ZoomBoy) and the pictures of Squish are from that.

So now I’m putting my cardigan back on and sinking blissfully into my little world set on the Old Sac tourist waterfront, and writing the sequel to The Candy Man.  Speaking of which, I’m pretty sure I’m getting a presale link to that story and you’ll see that.  And an Amy’s Lane essay.  It’s just…

Well, so easier to hide in my fiction than it is to write my facts.  My fiction is cozy and warm and gentle on my stomach and it puts a hood around my ears and even if it makes me cry, it gives me a cocoon of safety around my aching person.

If you need me, I’ll be there.