I wrote a very morose post yesterday and thought better of it and deleted it last night. It was precipitated by the sadness I felt for my friend Lundy. Her mom died yesterday. I've spent some time with her mom. I helped her with her finances after Lundy's daddy died a couple years ago.
So naturally, it brought back painful memories of losing my mother. Then, after that post, I had some very unsettling news from someone very close to me. That made my post somewhat eerie. Last night, I wound up feeling feverish, with a raging headache. Copious crying didn't help. I took some tylenol for my headache. And then the vomiting started. And when I throw up, I want my mother. I cry and moan like a sick cow. Luckily, The D is far, far away from my EA and is hard of hearing.
Every time I throw up (which thankfully, is rare, especially since I swore off Singapore Slings), I remember the year my brother got a cassette tape recorder for Christmas. It was the first day back to school after the holiday break and it was the usual morning chaos with four kids and one bathroom, all trying to get somewhere on time. In the middle of it all, I got sick. My very funny brother took advantage of the opportunity to use his new tape recorder. And everyone had a good laugh when he played it back. In the middle of all the shouting to hurry up, pounding on doors, and whatever else contributed to the usual cacophony, there was the unmistakeable sound of vomiting followed by moaning. "Mommmmmmaaaaaaa. Mommmmmaaaaaa." Imagine listening to that over and over and over again. And everyone laughing. Hard.
In A Prayer for Owen Meany, the narrator has three mercilessly brutal cousins. It reminded me so much of my childhood. I remember being locked in a trunk, hit over my head with a croquet mallet (I forgive you, Deb), having my diary read and recited back to me, being dragged by my hair (I don't forgive you, Emotional Vampire Former Sister), being called Fatty Arbuckle by The Daddler (I wasn't fat - just a little prepubescent chub) and Grease Mop by sibs (it paid off, though - oily skin = fewer wrinkles later on). Being laughed at when I caught my belly in a dresser drawer (I was 5 years old, for god's sake), having the bejesus scared out of me when random family members would jump out of a doorway as I was coming down the hall. I remember overhearing my mother telling one of her friends on the phone that I'd gone through a whole box of Kotex the first day of my first period. Who wouldn't? It's yucky and she thought girls would lose their virginity if they used tampons. I'll just tell you that the filmstrip they showed us in 4th grade didn't prepare us. There's nothing cute or sweet about "becoming a woman." At least not the way they defined it...
Ok, I'm done now. I'm going to go make a cake for L. Or more likely, make a grocery list so I can make a cake for L. The D has lotsa leftovers, so I'll hold off on making pork tenderloin. I have two of them, so might make one to take to L with the cake tomorrow. I have a feeling they'll be overrun with food. I should probably make something I can freeze and send with her.
Carpe diem.
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