Senses of childhood

I find it interesting what sights, smells, and sounds remind me of my childhood. Indulge me for a minute, if you would....and tell me yours.

The tick tick tick sound of the 60 minutes open on Sunday nights.

The smell of a window air conditioner (I think someone once told me that it is actually a moldy smell, but still...you know the smell I mean)

Coffee at 11pm at night (my dad was the kind who could drink coffee and still fall right asleep. Dustin is like that with Diet Cokes)

Popcorn - I actually don't care for it much, but had a stepsister that ate it regularly, with season salt.

Windex.

Pine trees - I used to hide behind the one in my front yard and read.

Kid sweat - not from myself, of course, because that would actually mean I had sweated, which I would NOT, but from other kids, ooobviously.

The sound of football games on constantly.

The smell of antique, straight from the attic mothballish old books.

Okay, ran out of steam. And yours?

Okay, Big sigh.

I no longer know what I have said on this blog and what I haven't. Apparently, I don't read myself. I am not my own follower. I am sure there is therapy in this.

News, for those who know me IRL (in real life. I got that from Clemsongirl, I think...). So...remember the job that said that they couldn't hire me today but that they really really were going to call me in mid-December because January was looking good?

They meant January 2014 or something.

Got a letter to that effect this afternoon.

But you know what? God is working something out. Actually, God already has something worked out. And He is just waiting on me to follow the bread crumbs to it, in His timing.

Y'all tired of my optimism?

Tough.

It is just how I roll...

Seriously?

How is it that Dad's know to go to the restroom for hours on end right during showers, brush teeth, books and bedtime? I just want to know...

Say the word

Here's the thing. I can muddle along, with a stuffy head, queasy belly, sneezy and achey disposition...and function along just fine. Slower, albeit, but essentially fine.

Until someone in a white lab coat says the word "flu".

And then I can no longer function.

I have been on the couch all day long. And apparently, will continue to be tomorrow. Which by Wed, I will have missed one day of all three jobs.

Which actually does bother me, because I am a geek. I get the heebs out of missing work. I was like this in school, also. It bothered me to death to miss anything, and I even convinced my father to let me go during a bout with mono. All was going fine until I passed out in gym class, and the jig was up. I was so angry to have been rendered incapacitated like that.

Much like today.

So I am pouty, and achey, and stuffy, and coughy, and sick. I am curled up with a box of kleenex and a can of Lysol (good for spraying the kids if they want to come near me. I'll show YOU. Bother mommy and get sprayed with unknown amount of chemicals and poison!) (Um, I am kidding, if you are a first time reader. That is what I do. I kid.)

And I am pathetic. All because a guy with a stethoscope said the word flu.

I am so going to slash his tires.

Only kidding, Dr. Jack.

Haloweenies

Sugar UP, Y'all!

No, seriously...

Here is a weird thing about turning 39.

No one believes you when you say your age. As if 39 is code for 43 - you know? All day long today, when people would ask how old I am, I would say 39. To which the response was usually something resembling

"....oh, SURE."

or

"....AGAIN, right?"

Remember back in the day when I wanted people to think I was older because I wanted to be taken seriously in my career? Think it might be biting me in the behind now...

distracting you with Fall pics