Thirteen inches of snowfall and three electricity-free days later, I am embarrassed to say that I had a bit of a mental meltdown. The first night of no power, Friday, the novelty and romance of reading by candlelight in New England were not yet lost on me. Granted, the ambient heat hadn't left yet.
Cut to Sunday night, forty degrees inside the house. When exhalations are visible indoors, Caitlyn loses her freakin mind. Aunt Mary Kay and I tried to figure out which room was relatively warmer, the kitchen or the living room. I was assigned kitchen detail, and even with the gas stoves a-blazin', the chill of the stone floors was enough to break my spirit entirely. I dragged the chaise that doubled as my bed for the entirety of the power outage across the kitchen and into the living room. Before I succeeded, I stubbed my toe so hard, I dropped the chaise down the single stair separating the two rooms -- effectively scaring the sleep out of every other living being in the house.
That was it. I lost it. I started sobbing and shouting about the death of half the Pilgrims during their first New England winter, quite unprovoked. "FLU, WHAT IS THAT AN ACRONYM FOR? They were all cooped up in a sub-zero cabin for the whole winter and killed EVERYONE IN SIGHT." I sincerely wish those two sentences made up the entirety of my rant about the Pilgrims, but that would be a falsehood.
My genius friend, Maura, solved the acronym mystery. Fuckin' Lives Up = flu. mhmm, wouldn't bode well for our Puritan ancestors and their messaging if everyone knew they slaughtered one another in the cold, now would it?
Last night, I finally slept in a heated home. Woke up, feeling fab. And since I get one cold a year, this one seems to be determined to make it count because it came roaring back as my day progressed. I liberated a box of sandpap-- I mean, tissues, from the hospital. The box has been vanquished. I took an absurdly long nap. I have had my eternal fill of herbal tea with honey and lemon. Time for Nyquil and a good night's sleep.
P.S. Guess what? I talk in my sleep. every day. why has no one told me this before? >.> was that part of my chill-psychosis, too?
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