Why I saved the day: It's nice to know that I don't live with a robot.

So, I woke up to the sound of a car alarm blaring. At first it was just a tingle in the back of my mind, but as I started to become cognitive of the world around me, the sound became clearer and clearer, morphing into the ever present repetitive "honk, honk, honk" that car alarms make. As I crept down the stairs, thoroughly awake, disappointed, and ticked-off, I tried to judge where the alarm was coming from, my own vehicle out in the drive way or perhaps the neighbors' down the road? Upon reaching the bottom of the stairs, I knew whose vehicle it was; not mine, not the neighbors', no, it was John's and he was running around the house in hurried abandon trying to shut it off. 

Apparently, the story goes as follows. John, on his way out the door in a rush to get to work, unlocked his car. However, rather than hitting the button on his automatic key chain with an "unlocked" figure, he accidentally pressed the red "alarm" button. In his startled shock and panic, he jumped and his keys went flying into the nearest bush. Panicked now, he quickly realizes he'll never be able to find the keys in the bush in time, so he rushes back inside to find his spare set to turn the alarm off and rush to work. However, upon meeting me at the bottom of the stairs, it becomes quickly obvious to both he and myself that he has no idea where his spare set of keys are. 

Naturally, I did know. So, without saying anything, I promptly found them walked outside, barefoot and clothed in nightgown, and turned the alarm off. In short, I saved the day . . . or morning at least. It was quite a nice feeling as well, and afterwards gave me more than enough to chuckle about. I mean, John, one rarely gets to see him in this light; all disheveled, panicked, and flustered all to hell. In most cases, I'm usually the one in that position, and he's the calm, precise, and ever-neat rock that holds my chaos in place. Most people might consider him a cyborg of sorts, since he is quite robotic . . . with more than a smidgen of type-A personality, all of which I find even more intriguing given he's an artist, and aren't they all supposed to be disheveled and zany? 

Well, since he was already late, John called into work and said he wouldn't be in until noon. I don't think he's in any mood to be around people . . . or perhaps he just has to reboot his cyborg systems from their overload and crash. Whichever, before I head into campus we're going to enjoy some blueberry-peach tarts and generous cups of coffee. But before that, I think I'll drift back into the daze of morning sleep. 

It's like I stepped out into summer: Why the sky cleared and the snow melted away.

Well, it feels like less than two weeks has passed since I was stuck in bed with the flu while the great old Midwest was shaken with the blizzard of a lifetime. Then we come to now, where I have bypassed an entire week of sunny 65 degree weather, people breaking out the springtime shorts, and the nineteen-year-old girls breaking out their sleazy hooker dresses.

Ah, yes! Springtime has arrived for a week. Today, I felt so much like my old self that I popped out my trainers and went running. When I got back, I felt so inspired that I cooked up a storm (naturally, to consume all the calories I just burned off), making eggy's in a basket (the greasy kind) and chopped fruit parfaits. Oh, how I love to indulge? 

Why this post might lack in lucidity: Snow & sickness = Ultimate fun!

So, I've fallen in a pit of despair. It happened two days ago. I had a pretty average day, you know work, class, work, drive home, nearly dying on the snowy-icy-slick road connected to my driveway. I felt a little . . . drained perhaps . . . all day, but whatever. I had enough energy to make apple and blueberry pancakes for dinner (which were delicious) along with sunny-side up eggs, and even put forth the effort to binge on some bacon. It was a nice meal. John and I love breakfast for dinner, and since I haven't had the time to even make breakfast in the morning for quite awhile, it was a nice change of pace.

Then, without notice, it happened. Yes, it's true, I projectile vomited. Turns out, as I later find out the next day at the doctor's office, I have the flu. So watch out, my fever seems to have subsided for a bit, but I'm still quite sick and writing this in one of my semi-lucid, awake phases. Of course, John keeps pumping me full of broth (egh!) and fluids, so I expect a quick recovery. He's also quite quick to point out that "he-told-me-so," when I, in a fit of lethargy, consciously decided not to get my flu shot, stating "I am superwoman. I have genes of steel," and noting that as a result of my given tendency of a child to touch every thing, disease ridden or otherwise, I have built up my immunities to all forms of sickness.

Obviously, this is not true. It's especially ironic given my proneness to shingles outbreaks and other forms of viral attack. Even more is my tendency to fall more often than not, which results in the slew of broken, sprained, and all-in-all injured body parts I have experienced over the years.

Well, now its off to sleep for me (again) and maybe when I awake up I talk John into making more apple and blueberry pancakes, since the ones I did eat didn't exactly stay in my system.