awaken burnout bluebonnet

Gratitude for today: I'm grateful that I'm healthy.

When someone coughs near me at work, I can say, "Hey! What the f*$k? Go HOME!", and that's the end of it. I don't have to worry that I'm going to die by catching whatever they're spewing out into the air. Well, unless it's that avian flu or the Hanta virus. I remember reading something about the Hanta virus liquifying your organs or drowning you by filling your lungs with green ooze, something horrid like that, and whether it's true or not, I'm scared shitless of the Hanta virus. But by and large, not worried about anything common.

My beautiful, young cousin is going through chemotherapy, and her little boy has a cold. Last night, she couldn't resist hugging him, even though she was supposed to stay clear of him until he was well. Now she has a cough and she's having trouble breathing. She tries to comfort her seven-year-old son because he's just told her that he's scared that she'll die, and that's what happens.

You know a few posts ago when I said that I'm usually laughing about what I'm typing, and you'd know it if I wasn't laughing anymore? Here's an example. Not laughing.

I know that the thing to do is love someone and support them, but keep living your own life. That's what my cousin wants. That's what DaddyBanana wants. Well, really what DaddyBanana wants is for all of our family to live in a gigantic house, 'Dallas'-style, but without all of the drinking and whoring and clubbing each other over the head with expensive Chinese urns. O.K., maybe the drinking wouldn't bug him. Anyway, I know I should be able to empathize, but keep on going with my seemingly charmed life. I'm usually pretty good at it, but not at the moment.

I've got all kinds of neat things to talk about today. I've had a fantastic week. I met my fitness goals, I met my work goal, I met Ceallach. A.B. and I caught up on some fantastic television while I knit 'Bella'. HBO brought back 'Rome' in all its bloody glory. Buddy got over his most recent bout of stress-induced bulemia, the apparent cause of which is so ridiculous that people think I'm making it up when I tell them. I was not haunted by the Ghost Okies. It was a great week, but I feel shallow talking about any of it this morning. I'll feel better by tonight, and I'll have loads to say, especially about the hauntings. Accountant Boy's having an unexpected reaction to the mere mention of them. Note to self: stop telling A.B. that our house is haunted by Dustbowl-era migrants.

See? Already pulling out of the blue. By the way, "awaken burnout bluebonnet" was the subject line of some spam I received this morning. It struck me funny.