Battling a bitch of a bronchitis bout

I’m sitting on a bench in the shade with my mother. I can’t sit in the sun because I’m taking Levaquin. This is the first time I’ve been outside since I got back, sick, from vacation. Hell, it’s the first time I’ve taken a shower and changed my clothes since I got back. Bronchitis is exhausting. All that yucky yellow stuff exploding out of your bronchi. Cough. Gag. Spit. Cough. Gag.
I sit far across the bench from my mother and don’t touch anything she’s going to touch. The last thing I need is for her to catch it. I’m crocheting as I’m sitting — a brightly striped afghan for my grandson, at his mother’s request. It should have holes, she says, because he likes to wind his fingers through the holes. I’m making it soft and snuggly –Alexander’s Grammy’s Magic Gypsy Blanket — good to sooth whatever might ail a typically testy toddler. The name was my brainstorm as I lay in bed most of the last week. Coughing. I started writing a story to go along with the afghan. A story about Alexander and his Grammy and a magic gypsy blanket.
My mother’s jabbering away about stuff from the 30s and 40s I’ve heard before. Many times before. I smile, nod, keep crocheting. I can’t even really hear what she’s saying. My ears are stopped up, her voice is weak, and I’m not even sitting that close to her. I make myself listen. Pick up a word or two so that I can respond as though I’m really listening. I think she eventually figures it out.
A friend of mine has tickets to Moore’s F9-11 for tomorrow night and asked if I wanted to go along. Cough. Cough. Guess not.
During our York Beach Solstice gathering, I drew the blank Rune (which didn’t exist in the original system but has been added by modern players), the symbol for “The Unknowable.” I sure didn’t know I was going to get this sick, including raging sore throat and swollen shut sinuses (somewhat better now — which is why I’m sitting outside and trying to breathe in some fresh air).
So, my future is a blank stone, for me to carve, hurl, or bury.
We shall see.
And, finally, this Nid’s for you and your crew, my hopefully soon-to-be departing president.
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