Once more, with feeling...

So I know that you're just dying to hear the rest of the story about how T and I met. Admit it! You're awake nights, sweating and panting....

Scratch that. It was just a flashback from last night, since T really was awake, sweating and panting. Get your mind out of the gutter, he was also puking. The UberSickness has descended upon our household, and so far Jack and T have been the first victims in the assault.

I'm pretty certain it's the Flu, since the vomit seems to be coming between bouts of sternum-crushing, phlegm projectile coughing. I'm also pretty certain that I'm doomed, since an illness of this magnitude will quite likely spell the end of me after the physical drain of the past few months, but hey! Let's look on the bright side! The Celiac Disease test was negative, and at least I can console myself with mountainous piles of French Baguettes. Mmmm, bread.

Now, rather than attempt to put energy I really don't posess today into continuing the story, I'm going to play along with an old meme that circulated a while back, but which I was too lazy to actually do. (Besides the fact that I never actually got tagged with it, which gives me the sneaking suspiscion that nobody is really that interested in reading my answers. Of course, that's just tough bananas because here I go anyway...)

5 things you probably don't know about me.

1. I am blind without my specs.

I alternate between contact lenses and glasses, but I almost never wear the glasses outside my house. Mostly because my eyes are my best physical feature, and my glasses make them look very small. Technically, it's not truly "legally blind" until the corrected vision in the better eye is worse than 20/200. However, ask my husband what I am like when I wake up and have to paw around blindly for my glasses in the morning, and he will tell you to go find an angry grizzly bear with an eyeful of angry bees.

2. I have no allergies.

At least none that I have found yet. I had a childhood allergy to strawberries that I outgrew (thank goodness!). I always feel vaguely guilty around people with severe food allergies, but then they usually say something about how they've never had a single cavity and I start gorging peanut butter in front of them...from the jar ...with my bare hands ...because I can.

3. I am a pack rat.

My inability to surrender to the need to throw away seemingly-useless items has caused more than one marital spat in our house. I've tried to overcome the compulsion, but the occasions when I find a critical use for some piece of junk I really should have thrown away have given me a primal fear of potentially discarding something useful. That, and I probably watched way too many episodes of MacGuyver as a kid. Who knews when I'll need to turn thirty-year-old silk flowers into a tasteful arrangement for an impromptu wedding reception? I ASK YOU?!

4. I am an exceptionally fast reader.

I blame my mother. As a kid, I spent many a sick-day home from school reading and re-reading the likes of Agatha Christie, Tony Hillerman, and Mary Higgins Clark. Mystery novels were my first love, followed quickly by Fantasy series, and tail-ended by Science Fiction. It's a bit akward at times, trying to find other suburban moms who can have animated conversations about Stranger In A Strange Land or RingWorld. Luckily, I have also found a deep love for stories exploring atypical human experience. The Glass Castle, by Jeannette Walls, is the most recent one that springs to mind. It's brilliant, and emotional, and reading it will change you. In a good way.
I read like I am dying of thirst and each book provides a few drops of water. And I know I'm not the only one.

5. I am abysmally poor at vocalizing my feelings.

I think I get it from my father. I tend to bottle things up, and assess the world in the quiet sanctuary of my internal monologue. I find a bikini wax less painful and scary than asking for help or favors from friends. I am great at giving good advice or analytically discussing a topic or situation, but when my feelings get involved it gets ugly. I flounder, unable or unwilling to bare myself to others. I can easily say "I love you" when I mean it, and those I have said it to usually know me well enough to know how much more I would like to say if I could. I feel pretentious telling someone out loud what I see in them that is extraordinary. It is only in my writing that I am able to articulate those feelings, and a rare moment when I do so.

So there you have it.

Now move it along, nothing more to see here...