Sunday, September 30, 2012
on cookies, colds and the great big suckity-suck
I head into the bathroom to wash the paint off my hands because in a fit of needing productivity, I toss a sheet of wax paper atop the sewing table and get to painting stones for a project. I wash my hands, dry them, then reach for the lotion and get a glance of myself in the mirror and snort with laughter. Atop my shorn hair I have wily-nily placed metal clampy-clips in an attempt to fake a finger-wave as my short, short hair is now in that stage where there is the possibility of poufiness. I completely forgot I had the clips in my hair (which didn't work, by the way) and am grateful I am in pajamas and my favorite shirt sans brassiere because if the bra had been on, I would have been out in the carport shuffling through the storage boxes looking for things to make Hallloween things with. I blame the cold.
So I sit here and curse those peanut butter cookies as I type away and think if only for a moment that this one thing, being able to wallow in the frivolousness of a cold is a small simple perk of infertility. The no kids thing suckity sucks in a way that makes me so tired most times that a girl has to grab the brass ring when she can. Being sick is a big time ick but being able to camp out on the sofa with a pile of books? Not too shabby.