Shoulda' Known Better

The Sheep is not stupid. She has a Master's Degree. Honest... She is, however, sometimes a bit slow on the uptake. And there have been those who have noted that she can sometimes be a tad reckless. Devil-may-care, if you will.

I knew last night when I hit "publish post" that I was tempting the fates. I mean really...joking about the stomach flu. That takes, for lack of a better word, "guts." It's like spitting into the wind or asking Tom Cruise about Scientology: you're just asking for trouble and time out of your life you will never get back.

Suffice it to say, I got it. I made it to work, was able to attend my 10:00 Pupil Evaluation Team Meeting and meet the needs of a few kiddos who were having a tough morning, but I didn't last past noon. The staff, in a fit of compassion (and perhaps alarm at my utter grossness) put their collective feet down and sent me on my way. I loaded up on Pepto Bismol and hit the road. 40 tension-filled minutes later I made it home and have been on the couch making pathetic little groaning noises ever since. Persephone hung in there for a while, but even she, helpful kitty that she is, couldn't take the shameful display Mommy was putting on and headed for parts unknown.

I attempted to salvage the day with some knitting on the shawl, but it just made me woozy. Spinning seemed like a sure-fire way to create unfettered nausea so that was out. Reading...no. TV...only if I didn't look directly at the screen. Everything save sitting perfectly still and thinking stable thoughts is making me feel like the earth's rotation has increased tenfold. In short, I am a sad excuse for a Sheep. Ginger ale is my new best friend. I'm thinking of marrying it and changing my name formally to Mrs. Ale. We'll move to the country and raise little ales...Oh My God...I'm rambling.

Better go back to sitting perfectly still on the couch. That's my new hobby for the time being.

SA