I’m feeling much better today. I went back to work, and it didn’t completely suck. Sure, I wanted to be back in bed, but the social aspect was good. I fear The Kid had no one to entertain him, or boss him while I was out and may have been bored. He can pretend he didn’t miss me, but I know the truth.
Tonight, however, you wouldn’t know I was feeling better. I’m in the same cozy corner on the couch, wearing practically the same uniform of flannel pajama pants, pink fuzzy slipper sock and a Neil Diamond shirt. Though, this version is clean, and less contaminated with death flu germs. I’m snuggled under the same, also newly laundered, blanket watching more Gilmore Girls reruns while reading news sites on my laptop. I should be out celebrating the fact I’m a death flu survivor at the pub with friends, but frankly I can’t muster the energy. I’d much rather enjoy the witty banter of my all-time favorite show and long for the days when Midge and I would snuggle in bed with a bottle of red wine while watching, and yell at one another for talking during any dialogue.
Perhaps Arlo would enjoy the show. I use the term enjoy loosely, because he won’t, but he also doesn’t enjoy Rock of Love and still tolerates it for the sake of shutting me up. And if he refuses I’ll use guilt. He’s religious, so clearly he responds well to such tactics.