I shouldn't be sick, for crying out loud. The temperature doesn't even dip below 70 degrees. Okay, maybe 65, when the Kona winds bring a rare cold snap. Yet, here I am, sniffling away in the balmy, year-round summer of Hawaii! Blasted cold. Surprising even myself, setting a new personal best for number of sneezes in a row. Seven. Seven big ones. Had to scrape my eyeballs off the floor after that last one.
Last night I soothed my congested head with a sinus pill, the kind that comes with a warning not to drive or operate heavy machinery. Because take-two-and-call-me-in-the-morning remedy has never failed me before. Personally, I'd like to think heavy machinery includes all Kitchen-Aid mixers, toasters, pots, pans and rubber spatulas, while we're at it. But they don't make a pill strong enough to live that dream.
So, why? Why must I cook breakfast every day? Hit me with the sick leave already.
No, no, if I must brag, in addition to all my regular Mom-Job duties, I also prodded the daily piano practicing--giving masochism a new lease on life. I did cut the daily 20-minute requirement short, however, because if the seven sneeze marathon didn't guarantee a headache for the rest of the week, listening to all that bang, bang, learning-to-play-banging, definitely sealed the migraine deal. Someone shoot me if Hibiscus plays the "Dinosaur Stomp" song one more time.
A toast to Spring Cold Sufferers everywhere. Cheers! To you, to me, and to the NyQuil nightcap I'll be having soon.
Always on the grow,
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