I promise I'll be back soon.

After 2 weeks of pain and setbacks and holidays, I think I might finally be back on the road to recovery. I managed to come down with a cold this weekend, which sucks, but such is life in the Midwest in November. But I've been knitting a little, and decorated one of the two Christmas trees in the house so far, so I owe the blog some photos. And I'm way behind on Blogstalking assignments, too.

So much fun, and so little time. ;)

I still live.. mostly

Last Sunday, I considered posting here that I was feeling better, and might actually be posting something of note in the near future. I really felt like I was finally getting over the bronchitis that had plagued me for over a week. I've heard of typing things like that jinxing things, but I didn't know that even the very thought of typing such hopeful words could send the bad juju action my way. Sunday night, about 11:30, I sat up in bed to cough a bit, felt a pop, and was greeted with searing pain in my back. I had just coughed my way to a broken rib.

In case you had not heard, broken ribs hurt like H-E-doublehockeysticks. I fell back asleep, only to wake up a couple of hours later nearly immobile. I managed to whimper a little, then work my way downstairs to take some of the narcotic cough syrup the doctor has prescribed on Thursday. I got myself to the couch, cried a little bit, then fell asleep. When Mr. Deplume got up at 4am for work, I told him about my troubles. He offered to stay home from work for the day, waited on me hand and foot, and took me to the doctor, who prescribed me some very nice pain pills.

Some friends and family members took charge and brought some dinners and got the girl to and from school for me, and for that I will be forever grateful. After two days on the couch, mostly asleep from the drugs, I am again mobile, and mostly narcotic-free. I am still moving very slowly, however, in what can only be described as a cross between Tim Conway's Old Man character from the Carol Burnett Show and Leaning Tower of Pisa. It's not pretty.

Of course I am still cursing under my breath every time I cough, but I am moderately sure that I will live.

I even managed to knit a little this morning, finishing a pair of mittens for the boy. I don't think I'm going to attempt to catch up on the blogstalking I've missed, though. I buried enough as it is in stuff that needed to be done last week. Sorry, folks. You won't get to see a picture of my oatmeal.

An upper respiratory haiku

I post here to whine
hacking cough, fever, sore throat
will i recover?

Blogstalking Week Seven: oldest picture of me.

I'm so lucky that my parents have scanned many old photos into their computer , then sent them to me. Otherwise, the oldest picture I could find would probably have been from my high school production of "How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying."

This here photo is of me (the baby), my brother Matt, who died when I was one, and I'm still a little angry about it (damned leukemia), and my older sister Kirsten. My parents still have those encyclopedias in their living room. So many school reports plagiarized from them over the years....


I hope Week eight is a real humdinger. I need a little kick in the creative writing patootie.