Rule of parenting: Child gets sick, is sick for a couple of days. Parent catches sickness, it is much more severe in intensity and lasts twice as long.
I wanted to stay home in bed and die. But with my Sunday school cohort out of commission it’s just me, and I don’t want to leave the kids high and dry.
I wish just one more person would help.
Act 2 of Hamilton is growing on me like an insidious fungus. I think the major obstacle is I don’t like Thomas Jefferson. The actor does a great job of reinforcing all the reasons I don’t like the bastard.
Even when I took high school history I was a bigger fan of the Federalist (Hamilton’s) central government system. That’s only strengthened as I’ve gotten older. Jefferson and his slave owning, Sally Hemmings raping (Yeah, I said rape – even if she said yes do you think she could say no without consequence? You think she could’ve run off in Paris without her family – still in slavery at Montecello – being punished for her escape?), “all men who look like me and have land and money like me are created equal but fuck everyone else” dumb ass.
No hero is perfect. But some are way less deserving of their rep than others.
The last number makes me want to cry. Damn you, Lin-Manuel Miranda. Damn you.
Why does my child have a bell? And why is she ringing it like someone will answer it?
The cold meds mean no nerve pills. That means getting through Fight Club is going to be interesting.
Apparently I am a gigantic asshole when I’m sick. Maybe more appropriately my filter fails and my normal unspoken assholery is spoken. Meaning I should just not speak when sick. Ever.
That new shift is tomorrow. Of course, cause I’m sick. This is my life.
I found a candy bar one of my church kids gave me. She’s a flute baby, too. I gave her a 30 minute lesson. She wanted an hour lesson; after 25 minutes she said her abdomen was sore from working on her tone. Mwahahahaha, I show no mercy.
Time to try for sleep. Man I hope it goes better tonight than last night.