I'm sick. That hacking cough, burning chest, can't decide whether I'm freezing or burning up kind of sick. The kind of sick that says Everybody feel sorry for me as I lay here on the couch coughing up a lung and drowning in wadded up tissuesl Except no one will come near me. I am a leper.
I haven't been sick since I had mono back in January. So of course, following the standard rule of my life which states that All Matters Will Be Complicated, I have to use a sick day on a week in which I already need to take two days off. Can't miss the kids' graduations, even if I have to stand in the back of the auditorium and run out to the lobby every time another piece of my lung wants to work its way up my throat.
If today is the first day of summer, then it must also be my baby sister's birthday. The "baby" turns 35 today. So, in the same week that my son gradutates from elementary school and my daughter graduates from middle school, my little sister turns an age that sounds very adult like. 34? Eh, still a kid. 35? Hey, here's that AARP application! Now trade in those Judas Priest albums for some Barry Manilow. And put away the Playstations, for crying out loud. Don't you have better ways to spend your time? Like watching repeats of the Lawrence Welk show?
I think if my sister and I combined the respective ages of our general maturity level, we still wouldn't reach adulthood. So I'm not really worried about her giving up her soul to the old age devil today. In fact, she'll probably even deny getting older. Besides, if we go by the AP article, she'd only be 24.
Anyhow, nothing like some milestones to start off your summer with the image of a cane and housecoat hanging over your head while you're laying on the couch unable to muster up the strength to call in sick. I'm not sick, I'm just old! That revelation causes me to check my boobs. Whew. They aren't saggging down to my knees. I knew my grandma was old when she needed a sling intstead of a bra. Looks like I'm still in bra country. And I haven't developed that baggy chicken skin under my arms yet. Sure, grandma was about 70 when that happened to her, but when you're 41 and feeling the start of menopause already, 70 may as well be 50.
I decided not to tackle any news right now. I don't have the mind for it. Nor do I have a stronge enough constitution today to put up with the backlash that comes from blogging about the news. Odds are good that someone will drop a comment on this post asking why I'm not writing about this or that, the this or that being something the commenter believes I am just not devoting enough time to so therefore I must not care about it. I've a form email ready for that, which states that when the commenter in question pays me to cover the news that he or she wants printed, reviewed and disseminated, then I'll be happy to cover the beat they have assigned me. Otherwise they will just have to settle for five paragraphs about a chest cold and old age.
Happy Birthday, little sis. You're really lucky I don't have the energy to dig up baby pictures of you.