1 day to moving day

CT scans feel like bad heatstroke. Nobody told me this, and I started feeling distressed and confused about 20 minutes after having my head in the giant microwave. Shoulder and knee joints froze up into stiff knobs of pain. 

But it was worth it, because my otolaryngologist had a look at the scans and said,"Erm, I have no idea. You should see a neurologist." So that's just great.

Oh, I dunno.

On the plus side, audiologist said I have perfectly normal hearing. The kids finally believe me when I indiscriminately yell, I HEARD THAT.

And that was yesterday. 

Today, talked with my boys on fb video chat before they ran off to play with machine guns(??). Finished illustrations - ALL OF THEM. Moved two carloads of crap. Packed all the silverware, and had to eat dinner with pink plastic elephant forks. 

Tomorrow: fun with Earblowers and heavy furniture.

physically improbable

Saturday morning, I sat on the bed folding laundry, stood up, brushed my hand against the leg of my jeans, and somehow tore off part of my thumbnail. I blame rivets. Which I don't appear to actually have on my jeans, but how in the hell else does one achieve this?

Within hours, the side of my thumbnail had swollen and blossomed like a lurid organ. I applied antibiotic ointment and disinfectants and tried to drain it, but it just throbbed and oozed and turned alternately green and red.

I complained about my gangrenous thumb on twitter, and Mr. HS sent me a picture of his broken foot. But unless he's been using his feet for coding instead of his hands, my whine still stands. Every little bump and chafe causes shooting, blinding, knee-watering pain. I have decided that this must be what it is like having testicles. Growing off your thumb. For this reason, I heartily do NOT recommend peeling an orange with your testicles.

So I was moaning on about my hand, powering through illustrations despite the disgusting pastel-smeared thumb gore, when suddenly a new house fell in my lap. And just like that, I'm moving in by the 1st.

Which is in 3 weeks.

Which is also my illustration deadline.

And all this without a thumb.

Well, crap.

Monday: fun with otolaryngology.

the jog, the moth, the noose

Got off work at 7:30pm. Still light out. Yanked on running pants and sneakers, stuffed ipod down jogging bra.  Ran down to the bay at twilight, dodging toads on the roadside.

Running back up, the sporadic cough I've been having expanded into an asthmatic gasp, and I walked in the headlights of cars, hoot-wheezing toward the house.

A moth flew straight down my throat.

I tried to spit it out, which is when I discovered that I do not know how to spit. A rope of saliva and bug parts fell out of my mouth, dangled somewhere down around my thighs, and swung back to splat across the length of my torso.

Started jogging toward the house, coughing and spitting and gagging. Made for the shortcut before my driveway, down a short hill of rocks between the mango trees. My ipod cord caught in the branches, I managed to get it wrapped around my neck, and fell down the hill. Legs went into violent muscle cramps from lack of use. Rode a cat back into the house, got into shower, and climbed under my quilting with a beer.

Well played, nature.

A quilt for Leif

Leif has been taken away by his father. Mike flew over, and we spent Saturday wandering the mall, watching the boy climb foam whales in the kiddie mosh pit area, drinking pints at the Mexican cantina, and awkwardly edging around difficult topics. Leif ate a sundae as large as his head. With two spoons. 

I've had the kids away for vacations before. I have been looking forward to the productivity time, since I have 3 weeks left to illustrate an entire book. So it was a bit unexpected for me to start crying suddenly in Costco, pretending I had something in my eye and hiding behind a sample of guacamole with my sunglasses on. I made it out and sobbed into the cilantro lime shrimp in the car. 

So I bought tickets to see the Avengers. It was awesome. Then I listened to shitty music and got shmoopy and cried some more on the drive home.

Today was my first day without children. The house was empty. I finished a two-page illustration, ate some sashimi, chatted with Mike about Leif's first night and then with my mom in Indiana, walked to the beach, found S. and his boys, caught a ride home, and knocked out the rest of Leif's quilt top. 

The visiting boys liked the quilt, so I promised to make them one next. It is always a surprise to me that I can make a nice dinner and kids will say, "eew, is that sauce? I wanted ketchup," but when I knit or sew things, they spread out on them and ask for more. I do not understand the difference.

Someone - and I really do not know who - weed whacks my front yard and clears out all the rotting mangoes while I'm at work. I do not have yard service. All the yard men I know have blamed each other. I am going to start leaving baked goods tied up in bows in the leaf pile - which they will then have to scrape up with a rake after the weed whacker finishes with them.

Next - sandwich, quilt, and bind. The binding will be black and color scraps*, the quilting will be by hand. I love the squooshy loft and bold detail of hand-quilted blankets.


* right at this point, the artichokes boiling on the stove blew up in a burst of electrical fire that left a hole in the stove coils. Fail. Get the ketchup.