I sat down to write to about my third grade Up With People/Super Me journal I found at my parents' house this summer, but I can't concentrate.
(Fear not, surely I'll write it tomorrow, you can return if you think you're strong enough.)
I just took my dog, Bea outside and was forced to wait approximately 15 minutes for her to pee and poop. I'm not sure why she won't go outside by herself and do this, but I assume it's because the rest of this house needs me involved in the majority of their peeing and pooping, even feeling compelled to join me while I take care of my own needs, and the dog has just become confused.
I'm trying to just be grateful that she doesn't pee and poop in the house anymore, but I'm not enjoying lingering in the backyard thinking about how nice my air conditioning is.
Tonight, while I was sweating and waiting for Bea to find the blade of grass with that perfect scent worthy of her waste, I was eaten by no less than 15 mosquitoes. I am dying of the itches.
Unfortunately, the itching isn't the primary problem. Now that I have a healthy covering of mosquito bites I have a flood of West Nile conversations with my Mom running through my head.
Since July, my Mom has mentioned West Nile Virus no less than 6,000 times when discussing the weather, being outdoors for anything other than walking to or from a car, illness, or any pause in conversation where she could bring it up out of no where. It is on her brain these days, convinced she's going to be bitten, infected, and promptly die if she lingers outdoors without a Deet bath.
My Mom is given to these types of fears. Thunderstorms, driving over the speed limit, Yaz birth control pills, tanks of gas less than half-full (or half-empty,) unwashed hands, not drinking enough milk, stagnant bodies of water, etc. all are hot topics of panic and paralysis of life due to their potential for doom.
This is all I can think of as I itch now though. All those eye rolls as my Mom discussed the evils of mosquitoes are going to come back and literally bite me in the ass.
I feel I should be on WebMD searching for the signs to look for and ways to treat it, but that feels like a lot of work. I just ate a bowl of peach cobbler and that on top of the itching is causing all sorts of laziness. Besides, I assume my Mom could already tell me everything I need to know about how to proceed now that I'm a likely candidate for death, but no way am I going to call her and willingly bring up West Nile.
Since this could be my final post before the mosquitoes and my Mom win, I thought I should stop trying to make this all make sense and just tell you what's on my mind, other than dying.
- I prepared a chicken-pot-pie last night for dinner and none of my children ate any of it, and it filled me with rage. I want to serve chicken-pot-pie every night now just to mess with them.
- The fall collection comes out for Noonday tomorrow and I fear that I might never bring another penny home from work after seeing the whole line last week. It's brutally amazing. If you dare and it's 9/4...here.
- I can't stop thinking about my love for Jax Teller, what a jerk Clay Morrell is, and how maybe it would be OK if Alex chooses to buy a motorcycle in the near future and join an MC. Is it 9/11 yet? Do any of you know what I'm saying?
- I worked out for the first time in months today and realized that one of the perks of not doing anything physical for that long is that you can very quickly feel like you've had a full workout, complete with the potential to feel sore.
- I put green, straight leg chinos in my Gap shopping cart for Aiden yesterday, and then took them out for fear that he might not be cool enough for them. Now I feel guilty.
- I'm reading the Steve Jobs biography and really trying to remain interested, but mostly my mind wanders to what type of boots I should try to buy this fall and whether or not we should think about getting a home phone line again....stuff I think Steve was thinking about too.
I think I should go take a salt bath, or go to sleep, or write my will.
Who would like me to leave them my Steve Jobs book?