In a way, I think it made it easier when I myself got sick, too, because then I could just lie down and stay stoned on NyQuil while the hours rolled on by, instead of being fully conscious of the filthy house and all the parenting and lost productivity. Getting sick was inevitable, obviously. I couldn’t quarantine myself from my sick kids when they needed mama snuggles, so instead, I got sneezed and coughed on about a million times, and one kid huffed directly onto my cheek, ‘MOM, DOES MY NOSE BREATH FEEL HOT TO YOU, TOO? IT FEELS REAL HOT COMING OUT OF ME.”
A few weeks ago, I told the universe I was going to finish a rough draft of my new novel before school let out- the same novel that’s been really hard to write as it’s all about grief and generational trauma and pain, and requires all of my best focused emotional and intellectual efforts to get ‘er done. Then the universe did me like Batman slapped Robin, and the kids- and then the adults- have been home with COVID for the past 2 straight weeks. School lets out for the summer late next week- my window is steadily closing. Even if I could have five minutes alone to write without interruption, my brain doesn’t fully function right now- like it’s one big snot-soaked ball of paper towel up there, just barely letting a thought at a time drip out. No telling if this post makes any sense. It’s meant to be in English- is it in English? Am I doing the English?
So, here we are, thick head, sinus headache, cough, fever has finally gone, and I only vomited the once, but it was like an Exorcist-situation. Now I guess we just wait to heal and hope that my brain and the universe coordinate so I can get this friggin book done. In English. Which I think is what I’m doing now but I just can’t be sure. Help. Send soup. Why haven't you sent soup yet.
