- - Tuesday, September 23, 2003 It's the little things... Yes, it's the little things in life. Those little things like children that wash there hands before they proceed to run their grimmy, tiny fingers all over you. Or, possibly, feeling the need to locate the nearest tissue before they proceed to yank your $38 thin knit sweater with their freshly booger-infested grip. I'm beginning to notice how my co-workers look at me as a woman slowly giving way to hypocondriac tendencies, washing my hands like it's going out of style. And even still, I've managed to catch something. That mysterious knot in your throat that forces you, the glowing professional that you are, to talk with parents & teachers in a haggard voice that would make a donkey cringe. I woke up yesterday, and my voice was nearly gone. Some may be rejoicing at such news, but being able to talk without simulating fingernails on a chalkboard is a major part of my job. I went as far as to bring my kids in for circle time, turned out the light, got them quiet, and read our daily material in a playful "Miss-April-sounds-like-a-donkey so-just-play-along" type of whisper. Kids are great because not only did they think it fun and something new, I actually had to tell a few of them, "Ok guys, it's....not whisper time anymore". First, it was just me trying not to bludgeon my own body from annoying myself with my own voice, and the minute I got home it all hit me and to Wal*Mart I flew for cold medicine. The bastard container said "Non-Drowsy", but how the hell do you explain this sudden overwhelming sense of what it must feel like to be a bowl of jello pudding. At this rate, they're not even going to let me into the preschool tomorrow, assuming that I had a moment with a bottle of pasting glue the day before. Blahhh... All I know is that I CANNOT get sick. I feel better than I did this morning, I'm bound and determined to kick this early. October is WAY too important a month for me to deal with the fear of my head being blown clean off my shoulders, rolling down the street as result of "that fatal sneeze". Germs. The gift that keeps on giving. Tomorrow is Wednesday. Then Thursday. And finally, my love, my dear Friday will be here.

posted by April @ 11:36 PM 0 Comments: Post a Comment << Home