So, it got cold last night, really cold. I mean it was so cold that my nipples got hard enough to cut concrete! I really should sleep with some sort of clothing on. Now that I've damaged your fragile psyche with that atrocious visual (everyone thinks in pictures, right?), let me tell you why a simple dip into the 40's makes a difference to a molasses blooded northern'r like myself. You see, the Mrs is a Manhattan girl and the Tyrants are half-n-half. A bit of cream and a bit of lutefisk. So, as it turns out, my son looks mostly like me and got a bit of the Mrs's genetics with his eye shape. I'm finding out that he did not get his tolerance of cold from me. Last night, I sacked out fairly early and actually fell asleep. Of course, sometime in the wee hours of the morning (he had to go wee, thus the phrase?) he got up and tunneled into the Mile Wide Bed. He starts out by snuggling with the Mrs and engaging in his most affectionate act so as to get her to let him stay. She is the gate-keeper ... the bouncer. After he has ingratiated himself with her, he will slowly work his way over to my thin slice of acreage and start siphoning off as much heat as possible from my overactive metabolism. Of course, he will stir a bit and reflexively beat the bejeepers out of my internal organs. Must be some sort of hex the Mrs cast on him so that I can share her experience of carrying him (and sis) for 9+ months. So, my hopes of a solid night's sleep was rended asunder. This series of events has had two distinct impacts on me ... one is that I have become more interested in getting the heat distribution fans installed/fixed for the wood burning stove. Priority on now that the ambient temperature in the Manor is now akin to a cryogenic preservation tube. The other epiphany, is that I am sick. The Murphy Factor hit me hard regarding the Flu Shot Fiasco this past Monday. A few days later and I'll be getting my shot ... I have a TSD test this Saturday ... OF COURSE I'll catch some nasty little genetically engineered virus from the Tyrants. Of course, since my body chemistry is out of whack, I'm trying to plow through a class 2 migraine as well. OF COURSE, that calls for brain-chemistry altering medication ... and we all know what that means ... 'DA FOG'. Present in body, but not quite all the way in mind.
Certainly, everything was trucking along fine but that butter-fly wing batting on Monday is now winding up it's Saffir-Simpson Scale 5 hurricane power. In the good-news column (as lengthy as it is) his morning, when I stepped on the scale, I found that I'm holding steady at 185 lb. Not too bad, considering that I threw myself on the candy-bucket to save the kids from the evil sugar monster. Now, all I have to do is survive the holiday season (Grams is an exclellent cookie/peanut brittle source, Gramps is going to possibly make that date roll I eat too much of) and perhaps avoid another round of mutated virus ... tall order, eh?
Labels: Bed, Children, Flu Shot, Home Improvements, Illness, Karate, Migraine, Sleep, Tang So Doo, TGIF, Weight, Winter