Poppy Mom

Girlfriend in a Coma

I'm sick. It's the flu. I wrote a pithy little ... thing ... about having the flu last night, before the fever devoured the last functioning synapse in my brain. And somehow, it's vanished. I don't know if I accidentally deleted it, or if someone's breaking into my accounting and messing with me. Fevers make me paranoid.

So, I have body aches, a headache, lungs full of phlegm, no energy. And a fever. The glands in my neck are swollen enough to be used as prosthetic testicles. I'm sick enough to have neck nuts. It's that bad.

You know what really sucks about all of this? I'm on my own today. B.'s boss, who shall be referred to as Heartless Motherfucker, has been on his ass about using his flex time. It's not that B.'s slacking. Not in the slightest. His boss' beef is about the occassions months and months ago, when I was in the throes of post-partum depression and ready to throw myself out the window and B. would leave a few hours early. He always made up the time he took off, or used his personal time, which was drained by the end of the year. Heartless Motherfucker complains that B. is "unreachable". B. has two pagers and a cell phone, all from work.

Did I mention that Heartless Motherfucker paged B. on our wedding anniversary three years ago and kept him on the phone from 8 p.m. until well after midnight for a problem that could have waited until the next day?

So, Clara "Barton" Jane and I are flying solo today, because we didn't adequately plan my sickness so B. could ask for sick leave in advance. It's going pretty well. Even though I feel like ass, nothing major has happened. I mean, I got the thumbtack out of my little nursemaid's hand before she put it in her mouth. And she only ate a tiny bit of the mud that the dogs tracked in.

Currently, the cat is babysitting the baby. It's times like this that I really miss having a toothless cat.

Help. Bring narcotics.