Bilious

My sinuses have undergone some painful transformative process, and now appear to be producing novelty ropes of joke-shop slime. Am rummaging in the candy baskets for the other half of whatever Wizard Wheeze I have evidently consumed, and eating one of everything just to be on the safe side. I've kept the baby home with me, which does nothing to speed my recovery but plenty to restore my spirit, which has been scraped thin across the weeks of payroll lag. Payroll lag is reprehensible and unconscionable. Working full hours for no pay while expending extra money on gas, childcare, and no-longer-deferred loans has left everyone haggard and miserable. Soon, I am trying to coax them. Soon there will be money for more living space, more food, a replacement for that broken appliance, that airfare that needs to be booked, that movie the kids want to see. I warned them that the 6 weeks might be delayed and turn into 8 weeks, that it would be hard and miserable, but that we have to stay on target. Now the ships are shaking and threatening to veer off and explode, and I'm trying to hold the formation. Stay on target!

I feel helpless and sick and responsible. But today I'm home with my baby, and I'll run the vacuum, sneeze through a whole box of  tissues, catch up where I can, and hope for the best.