Maren has the flu. Which sucks because she's 11 months old and anything is scary when the baby's still a baby, you know. I'm not in a panic about swine flu, even though the doctor said they aren't even testing for that anymore, they are just assuming everyone who comes in has it. I'm still not in a panic even though they made me leave by a separate door and I couldn't even walk her through the sick waiting room. I'm not even in a panic because the stupid test gave her a miserable nosebleed and my favorite green shirt (in fact, the only piece of clothing I own come St. Paddy's Day) has blood all over it.
No, but still. I'm a worrier. It's what I do. I worry. And I fret. Because I'm stupid enough to down deep somewhere believe that my worrying makes a difference.
And I rail. I don't know how else to describe it. I rail against the powers that be. Against the stupidity of the universe. Against whatever is in my path.
I have a board meeting tonight for Montessori, which I will be missing, because, you know... Flu. I have a board meeting for work this weekend, which I will not be missing, because, you know... Job. I've been reminded that this isn't the best week to be out. However, it's not the best week to bring the baby in and expose everyone to the flu, either, so I can't really win here.
So, bad timing. But when isn't it bad timing.
In an example of bad timing that could have been avoided, however...
It has come to my attention that November, in addition to being the official host month (or hostess month - I think the verdict is still out on whether November is a man or a woman) of NaNoWriMo, it is also the official host month of NaBloWriMo or National Blog Writing Month, in which bloggers pledge to write at least one post per day for the entire month.
Well, it's the second and I didn't post yesterday, so you're already out of luck. Sorry.
But it seems to me that this is patently unfair to the blogger/novelists out there. Anybody with me?