Friday, November 26, 2010

Black Friday Special Report

So then, I think last Friday, my sister developed blood clots in her leg and in her lung. I mean, right? Gah, not the lung. So she was taken by ambulance to the intensive care unit for observation, and pretty much just observation. Because if she goes into cardiac arrest, it's not like you can give her compression. Not with her ribs. Well okay, also for oxygen and blood thinner. Regular blood thinner, also, doesn't work on chemo patients.

She was in the hospital over the weekend and now she's back home, hooked up to oxygen and giving herself blood thinner shots daily to dissolve the clots. "Or maybe," she makes a little explody gesture near her heart, closes her eyes, and grins and flaps her hands like an angel going up. So it's that kind of Thanksgiving. Like when my mom showed up at Thanksgiving all of a sudden on crutches and announced, "I can't walk. Ha ha!"

I always say that if I were the President of the United States, I would sign an executive order making the day after Thanksgiving a permanent national holiday. It should be against the law to work the day after Thanksgiving. Especially the day you wake up not wanting to get out of bed, like ever. My favorite life coach says that depressed sounds like "deep rest," because when you're depressed that's what you need. Which is entirely plausible. But also imaginable is that I won't ever lift a hand to do another damn thing, even against a sea of damn things, and laundry, and index cards. If I wanted to get out of bed just a little bit, I could stay in bed.

As it is, up and at 'em:

* drink water
* shower
* eat oatmeal
* change sheets
* sort laundry
* eat sandwich and pie
* read Belly Up
* report volunteer hours
* invite trainers to practices
* review & plan
* bills: pay credit card
* set up December LHH tasks
* talk morosely to sweetie man
* write root vegetable article
* write up sweet potato hash recipe

And now I've had dinner and I'm watching the last two Matrix movies, which are very deeply restful. I think my brain is flatlining right now. I'm only half paying attention because I'm writing this, so I have to ask the sweetie man who the Chinese guy is. "Serif," he says. "He's the Oracle's bodyguard."

"Seriously? So like if he dies, she's gonna be sans serif?"

Oh, Seraph. Still.