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Rated: E · Essay · Biographical · #1616912
Reprint from LJ: What *do* you do with the day after being sick, anyhow?
So what do you do with the Sunday after being sick?

You know how it is: that limbo you get trapped in when you're about ready to take back responsibility for entertaining yourself from your bodily functions, but still not feeling quite well enough to face rejoining a society that will expect you to form an opinion on whether Britney or K-Fed deserve the kids this week. So you try to pacify yourself with putting on fresh pyjamas and watching other people be interesting on the Food Network, or if you're still feeling the effects of the Nyquil, the Discovery Channel...

...Erm, not that this is my usual post-illness syndrome, or anything. For one thing, I also put on fresh fuzzy slipper socks. Then I sit down at the computer and 'fall to snipping and spoiling', as Louisa M. Alcott put it. I've been known to download at least six lavishly impractical free trials before breakfast.

Which is usually cupcakes, because after all, I've been sick, I deserve a little indulgence. For some reason this rationale has never worked in re: getting Shoemom to do a special laundry so that my pjs and slipper socks are all nice and toasty the moment I go to slip into them, like on the commercials, so I have even more reason to resort to tried-and-true friends. Ah, sweet, sweet cupcakes...nobody understands me like you do. Except maybe PC milk caramel melts.

After awhile, of course - like within ten seconds - you discover that the new MS Office suite is actually less useful than the old one. I mean, they left off the cute little animated characters that are such an integral part of your data-processing experience, inasmuch as you can make them glance off to the side a dozen times and still call it work. Also, uninstalling totally hoses your current Outlook version, which is a clear sign of the end of the world, or at least your plans to get Shoemom to shell out for the Yahoo! mail account you don't have to access from your browser, thus at least ending the scourge of offers to 'Watch Christina's new video!!' for good.

You toy with writing an aggravated letter to Bill Gates, but without an animated kitty purring electronic encouragement, it's just too high a mountain to climb. It's time for more real-world understanding. Pleased with any excuse to venture forth a bit further, you head out into the wilds of housekeeping.

It becomes evident that you really have missed an awful lot, being sick and all. Clearly, this would be a perfect time to reassert your self-respect as a productive member of the human race via some random scheme that you've always figured would improve the world at large immensely, if you only ever had the time off from deciding whether Paris should be allowed a manicurist in jail or not. Since they comprise about 50% of your worldview at this point, why not try cutting mats out of the cats' fur, for instance?

...Also, practicing emergency first aid.

Thwarted as a benefactor to the meowing masses, you wander back into the kitchen for more comfort, and discover your mother. Dear old mum, who may fall down a bit in the matter of snuggle-fresh sleepwear, but is still such an integral part of your life. Really, how long has it been since you've actually taken the time to find out what's new in her world? I mean, she could be dying, for all you know. Better to make sure all the important stuff gets said before it's too late.

"Ooh, whatcha doin'?" "Making a grilled-cheese sandwich." "Neat. Do that a lot, do you, make sandwiches?" "No, sometimes I just decide to throw together a venison osso bucco with wild greens and balsamic pine dressing. Don't you have a download waiting or something?"

Fine. You flop onto the couch, turn on the TV, and immediately become immersed in how plastic buttons are made. With a completely clear conscience, naturally. It's not your fault, oh no; you tried to overcome, to fight against sloth and imbue your existence with deeper meaning, but your best efforts have been repulsed....[yawn]

(This is one of the reasons I like watching the Food Network at times like this; most times, come to think of it. That gentle, vaguely hedonistic atmosphere the 'characters' live in, wandering around all day concerned only with providing themselves and their friends with the best of food and drink whenever they feel the need, is remarkably soothing to the 9-to-5 psyche. Up to a point, anyway. After which it becomes much more fun to watch Giada DiLaurentiis stumble around trying not to break a nail, or something, on Iron Chef America. I have a very proletarian sense of wish-fulfilment.)

Anyway, that's been my day, here @ Shoe Central. It may not have been exciting, but I can't say it wasn't productive; I now feel well enough to decide that Federline should have the kids for now, anyway (and believe me, I no more thought I'd ever type that sentence than you'd be reading it). That he wishes to care for them in the ease and comfort that his ex-wife's money could provide does not diminish the fact that he does apparently sincerely wish to care for them in the first place.
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