back to biz'ness

Alrighty...got two words for ya. Flu shot. Six days and four pounds later, I have risen from the ashes like a phoenix....a disheveled, limp-winged, dirty-beaked one but a phoenix nevertheless. Note to self- ALWAYS get a flu shot from now on and really, Mama..really..get your ass back to the gym. It's called an immune system, woman. Build it up....okay???

Folks, lemme tell ya a little something about Influenza A. It hurts. It hurts like hell. I have realized that I don't think I have ever had the flu after experiencing what I did this past week. Good grief. How can one old bod have an aching chest, snotty nose, flaming migraine, burning fever, a cough that sounds like Rosey Grier, throbbing muscles, blurry vision & light sensitive peepers, no appetite, nausea and a bad-breathed white trash attitude of allowing the kids to watch T.V. like a couple of street junkies...running around, half-naked with only peanut butter spoons and Triscuits to eat, and quite possibly from the smell of it- go unbathed for what I do believe was over three full days? Yep. Give a ring out to the producers of COPS and lock me right on up. I was down for the count and couldn't give a flip about nothing..no way, no how. And you would think I'd be the size of Avril Lavigne after ingesting only udon noodles and lemon ginger tea for a week. But when ya throw in a few dozen dead-of-night spoonfuls of Haagen Daz, I guess it all evens out and the shelf that's on my backside...still there, unfortunately. Oh, well, it gives me somewhere to put my duster.

Yes, in my dizzy, glassy-eyed state at the computer board this morning, all I can say is...I am darn glad this mucous-y Freddy Krueger is slowly creeping its way on out of my lungs and I can finally get all my dishes put back in the logical place and pick up the 83 balls of tissue that have littered my bedside table. Aww, thanks hon, for trying to do my job for almost a week..I really appreciate it, but baby, you might be able to work like a trooper, bringing home that proverbial bacon to your woman but you can not do Mama's job like she can. I may be unpaid and un-401 K'd but I am still the C.E.O. and my company needs me. I am determined to get back to the office and find my Kitchen-Aid spatula tip that went MIA during this fiasco and attack the utility cart that has enough paper piled on it to compose a couple of versions of War and Peace. Yes, it is high time for this little house Frau to toss out the Ibuprophen and don her super-hero apron, whirl up the vacuum and get right on down with her big, bad domestic self. But first things first. This morning, I will drink my orange juice, shave two very scary armpits and find the scrunchy that's disappeared into the rats nest I used to call my hair.