My mouth HURTS!
I wrote to the wonderful people I've been working with and described my status as feeling like a half chipmunk who's gathering nuts in one cheek and has just fallen out of her tree. (Under the wonderful influence of Vicodine, my savior.)
That was a few days ago and I had hoped to feel better by now.
I did not cry, can you believe? Even after that tell-tale iron taste was in my mouth. By mid morning I was back to square one...yes, including the swelling. Urgh. At least there's no infection! Small recompense, but there's that.
I can't really afford to take more time off, so tomorrow I'm packing my ice packs and heading in to work, just call me chipmunk face!
On The Book That Shall Not be Named?
Andy traveled through the mugginess that has infected Seattle to bring it back to my sickbed. I tried to tell him the fog and muck was a by-product from Dementoid-breeding, but he just looked at me funny...I did say he never read the books.
Almost as soon as I opened the book, the skies opened up for a torrential shower, in July! I know, I know, I live in the land of rain and moss, but July? It's like God was crying his eyes out about the last book, I swear :). Anything to mess with the people who feel this book was written by Satan's sex slave, or whatever.
So here's the thing...no, no spoilers here, just a comment about the whole experience: It is just so odd to me... It's like I had to read it NOW NOW NOW! Finish it, finish it quickly! Like pulling off a band aid or something. Andy didn't believe me when I told him I'd finished it this morning (I didn't get it until yesterday after noon). Almost 800 pages, whoosh!
I'm going to re-read it now, slowly, like a normal person. Laugh at the little things, finding the grammatical nuances, think about how I'd have written a particular paragraph, or sentence, or word...you know, the usual thing I do with books. Doesn't everyone? I did share with you the fact that I was a literature major of the "deconstruction" era?
Lemme tell ya that it makes for absolutely poor training to go out and teach middle/high school literature. Possibly why if I ever teach again it will be English as a Second Language - period! Cuz you are never tempted to get into a philosophical debate about Mary Shelly's use of a particular word on a particular page when it's all about learning the language in the first place.
Right, where was I? Oh yeah, I'm off to go take some pain pills and dwell on page 92 or something.