The Love Seat Diaries
Random Musings of the Congested Mind
My family has been ill with wicked sinus infections for the past two weekends now. My son started it off last week, I continued the trend on Thursday, and my husband succumbed on Saturday. Per usual, my husband is already back to work today, while I have not moved from my sickness perch — the love seat in our family room.
My head has been too congested to read or think, something that is usually required to do one’s job, so all I have been able to do is watch television. Thank goodness for video streaming. It has saved me from afternoons of daytime talk shows, Bravo reality series, and reruns of The Brady Bunch, the same reruns I used to watch when I was home sick thirty-five years ago.
So I present to you today a faithful account of my days stuck on our mini-sofa — The Love Seat Diaries.
Get son to school. Not wanting him to get soaked by torrential rain after just getting over his own sinus infection, I drive him. Eat breakfast and settle into the love seat, happy to be tucked inside. Realize I did not make lunch for him, nor did I send cash with him to purchase said meal. Drive back to school with lunch money envelope.
A zombie, I return home again and set myself up with tissues, a garbage can, every remote in the house, my phone, and a cup of tea.
Watch go-to sickness films Something Borrowed (no, I never read the book) and Becoming Jane (nope, not that one either). Seeing John Krasinski’s character prompts me to check how many hours until my son comes home and we can watch The Office. We have been doing an Office marathon for the past month or so, one episode every day after school, but when he was home sick that number quadrupled. We’re on Season 8!
Briefly ponder the character progression of Michael Scott, then blow nose.
Started on love seat sitting up, but gradually sink into it more each hour. By the time husband comes home, am completely horizontal with a swollen face, red, leaking eyes, chicken hair, and am breathing from my mouth. Lovely.
Am only able to check Facebook, my lifeline from the love seat. Receive a message from a friend. Her daughter will be visiting London. Do I have any ideas on what to see?
Fuzzy mind clears briefly to suggest some of my favorite things in that great city. Yearn for the British Isles. Watch way too many travel videos to ease the pain. Bore even myself.
Contemplate stealing older son’s stash of Walker’s shortbread cookies. He’ll never know, he’s at college. Don’t have the motor skills to open the box. Resort to slashing at it maniacally with scissors. Box looks like Freddy Krueger attacked it. Give thanks for tape.
Back to love seat.
More of The Office. Yeah, Pam and Jim!
Despite his own illness, husband plows through some errands. I waive goodbye to him from the love seat. Today brings an extra treat. Now when I get up, my head spins. Wish I had a penis, so I could urinate into a two-liter bottle the way I see guys do in comedy movies.
Husband eventually joins in on the sickness fun. A movie marathon ensues. The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo (intense and interesting, didn’t read the book, starting to see a disturbing pattern here). Son returns. Frankenweenie (good, love Tim Burton) and Get Smart with Steve Carell and Anne Hathaway (love them both).
Fall asleep on the love seat.
A special Sunday morning The Office mini-marathon almost makes sickness worthwhile.
Still no energy, although not as congested. Wish I had bolts in my neck so I could be powered up by electricity like Sparky the Dog in Frankenweenie.
The Office theme song runs on continuous play in my head, somehow finding a way to nestle itself among the mucus. Start referring to Kevin and Phyllis like they are my co-workers. Begin to plan what cake I want for my birthday party in the conference room.
Watch the Grammy Awards. Tape Downton Abbey to save for a clearer-head day.
Know I’m not all there, but wonder what the heck a demented circus has to do with Taylor Swift’s mean never ever ever song. Wish Florence + the Machine opened the show. Realize I have a girl/artistic crush on her. Take it personally when she neither wins anything or gets to perform.
Learn that Mumford and Sons is British, which makes me feel better liking their music. I was scared to enjoy their folk songs when I thought they were American. I mean, who was I turning into? Breathes a sigh of relief, happy I could actually breathe through my nose. Hurray!
Enjoy Jack White’s performance. Wish there was more rock on the show.
Heard something about the Pope resigning for the first time in six hundred years? Head must be more clogged than I thought.
Writes blog so doesn’t look like a fool leaving Super Bowl post up from last Monday. Still in pajamas. Head in a moderate haze.
Have exhausted all take-out venues for dinner. Must cook tonight. Must go grocery shopping.
Only five more hours until the next episode of The Office.
Must get off the love seat.