Feeling better...

I think I'm getting a grasp on being at home.

I may even start to enjoy myself a little.




What I'm not enjoying is a broken faucet in the kitchen. I have no idea what happened to it, but there was a 'clink' and then very little water pressure. Now, there's no water at all. It's one of those pull-down faucets, and it came with the house. I took it apart, cleaned it, put it back together and then repeated the whole thing under the supervision of OldMan just to make sure I hadn't boogered it up. (a note here: I knew good and well I didn't mess up the faucet. I know how to take things apart and put them back together. SOMEONE... OLDMAN... does not have quite as much faith in me. c'est la vie.)

I need to finish cleaning out closets and cabinets, but doing that is not like cleaning the floors. You don't have to be in the MOOD to clean. You can do it while thinking about other things. You can clean while not thinking about anything at all. It's something that really doesn't require much out of you aside from just doing it.

Cleaning things OUT, however, requires more than a phone-in.

I have to look at each thing and consider it before I put it back in the cabinet.

Do I need this?
Is it important?
Is it grotesquely expired? (rather like the Pepto-Bismol I found under one of the bathroom cabinets, which actually expired a year before we moved. Before we moved here. Almost four years ago.)

So, my bathroom is a shambles and I cannot see the floor in my closet, but I have not been able to convince myself to get in there and clean that shit up.

Oh well. I know I'll get to it. I'm sure my family would appreciate that it be sooner rather than later.

In health news:

LovelyGirl is much better. I took her to the doctor on Monday with a terrible cough, and they diagnosed her as having the flu.
No shit.
But, she's apparently done with it now. Back at school and bopping around without a care in the world.

OldMan, however, has the Black Death. He was diagnosed with the flu a few weeks ago and whatever he's got, he can't kick. And, like most men I've seen, when he's ill, no one in the history of history has ever been as sick as he, never had as a high a fever, never had a headache as bad, never suffered as greatly as my poor husband.

Bless his fucking heart.

I'm just tired, I think. If I have a virus, it's not doing the same things to me as it is/was to the rest of the crew. I don't feel great, and by the end of the day, I'm barely conscious.

Some of that is not sleeping.

OldMan snores.
A lot.
When he's sick, it's worse. I mean, "he wakes himself up with the noise" worse. "The dog whines in fear from the racket" worse. "The parrot on the far end of the house repeats the noise at two in the morning" worse.

It's epic.

And, since he has to get up and go to work and I don't, AND because he's not well, I don't want to punch him in the face all the time, but I would like to get a little shut-eye myself at some point.

If and when he's better, I'm going to send him to his doctor, or drag his ass in, and see if there's something we can do .

Meanwhile, LovelyGirl suggests my becoming nocturnal.

I'm starting to consider it.