Four Times

It was only four times yesterday I thought to myself that I needed to call and check on Mom.

That’s down from five times last Monday.

It’s been a month. Holy shit.

I can’t bring myself to even open the big pouch from the funeral home.  It has all the acknowledgement cards, the guest book, and all that shit I need to send thank yous to the people who came or sent flowers, or baked pound cake (which I may, or may not, have eaten every last morsel of).

For now, it sits on the floor of my room…my she-cave…the one room in my house filled with just me stuff.  It’s judging me for being so damned intimidated by a friggin’ leather pouch, and probably fake leather at that, isn’t it?

This will get easier, right?

So, That’s What It’s Like To Have Pneumonia…

….again…

Hi kids! Last Monday I was feeling kinda poorly, and then I was feeling like a truck had run over me and the truck was hauling a trailer, and the trailer had a tractor on it, and the tractor was pulling another trailer, and that trailer was full of manure.

Wet manure.

No, wait…maybe I didn’t feel that good.

It was a semi that ran over me.  A flat bed semi, hauling the space shuttle, pulling the truck/trailer/tractor combo.

Yeah, that’s closer to how I felt by noon last Monday.

The rest of the week is a blur.  A horrible, cough-wracked, chest hurts, wheezy, feverish blur.

Team Pneumonia was kicking my ass, until the Big A (for amoxicillin) came to my rescue.  It was a close one, but in the end my defense proved too tough.

And,  I lost ten pounds, so victory?

Post Toasted

Between aging parents and sparring siblings <<< hey, cool name for a band right?….

Mah buckit is empty.

When that happens I reach in the grab bag to dig out a post of a different sort, and hope for brighter days and fuller buckits……

Let’s just hope this sign is right.  I’d hate to miss my exit.