The Cat Flew... I Mean Flu

My cat caught my horrible bug from me. Perhaps I do have the swine flu. If it can pass from pig to person, perhaps it can pass from person to pussycat. (Okay, I just had to give into the consonance. Too much of a temptation.)

But I kid you not. Yesterday my poor old cat slept all day, and if you think that's normal for a cat, let me tell you, it isn't. And he didn't meow. And when he walked--briefly--he looked like it was the hardest thing in the world for him to do, like his two back legs were twisted backwards, while his head was almost tucked between his legs. 

But his not meowing was the hardest part. He always meows to me. I ask him a question like, "How are you this morning?"

He answers, "Meow."

I ask, "Would you like to play outside with the kids?"

He answers, "Meow."

I ask, "Would you like colder water in the bathtub?" (He gets running water from the tub--likes it best that way.)

He answers, "Meow."

Only this time, he didn't answer. He didn't want to whine when I asked him how he was this morning, so he said nothing.

He didn't want to play outside with the kids. The sun was too bright, and he had a headache.

And he didn't need colder water in the bathtub. He felt too sick even to climb into the bathtub to get it (I lifted him in a few times so he could drink). I broke down finally and put a bowl of water on the floor with his food, and he broke down and drank from it for the first time in about 10 years.

And he didn't purr. Not all day. Not when I stroked him, not when I scratched right under his chin, not when I held him like a baby. 

I actually wondered whether he'd make it through the night. I'm sure he wondered the same thing (I wondered it about myself on Wednesday).

And then, at five this morning, he came to me, sat next to me, and began to purr. And he meowed, a childish sort of happy meow, like he was excited. He felt better, a lot better, and since he'd been expecting death, feeling better was quite a relief for both of us. 

Now he's acting normal. He's been walking around (when he's not napping--after all, he is a cat) but acting like he's okay, like he's happy.

If only I could recover so quickly.

A Lame Spin on Pride and Prejudice

Don't get your hopes up... I'm not quite human yet. My son went through a hard day yesterday, too, where he did little beyond lie on me and drink water (slowly). Scared me a bit, but I still haven't gotten my appetite back, so I figure he's just fighting what's been attacking me for the last week. 

I said I'd blog on Fairest, but I'm not going to, not yet, anyway. I finally watched the film version of Pride and Prejudice--the Hollywood film--and I was so utterly unimpressed with it I'm not sure what to say. Perhaps it points to what I think makes most pseudo-epic Hollywood films fail miserably: cinematography and soundtrack replace a good script.

You might assume I am a purist, and to a degree you might be right, for I love a good script, love a good story, and love dialogue more than most... but I don't need for everything to reflect a book entirely, or the recent miniseries of Lost in Austen would have been unwatchable. But Lost in Austen, for all the liberties it took with Austen's original, used the original in such a fabulous, engaging, and humorous way that it taught viewers about the characters, paid its homage to a wonderful novel, and reflected the truth of the original, linking it to today's world in a refreshing way. (Can you tell I liked it? I almost sent $80 to the local PBS station so I could get the DVD of the 3-hour series). 

But the film with Keira Knightley did little to reveal any of the characters from the book. Honestly, I blame the director. Some of the actors were completely miscast, or were directed to play people who simply did not exist in the book at all. Bingley was an idiot, simpering, stupid, pathetic in his lack of backbone. Mr. Collins bore absolutely no resemblance to the novel's character at all. He was bland, bland, bland, when he should have been pompous, oily, and smarmy. He should have made us squirm. And Mr. Darcy was neither handsome nor regal... and though Colin Firth was brilliant in the role (and most men would fall by comparison), he cannot be the only capable male actor with a decent face out there. 

Most of all, though, I sensed that the director wanted to make Pride and Prejudice better. But Joe Wright didn't get it (and I must say that most men don't). He neither understood Darcy nor Elizabeth, nor any of the rest, and in the end he created a world as stilted as the entire second Star Wars trilogy. Had I not seen other versions recently, I might wonder what I ever saw in that book at all. Really terrible. Almost as bad as the local theatre company's versions of Shakespeare's plays (I need to blog about that soon). 

I think I'll go back over my DVR and watch the Lost in Austen series again, if only to get the yucky taste out of my brain. Were I Jane Austen, I fear I would have rolled over in my grave from Joe Wright's version. One should understand a work thorough before trying to take liberties with it.

Taking a Break

I have to apologize for the last posting... I was feeling pretty ill, and yesterday my temperature rose above 100 degrees (which means a lot, since it tends to run about 2 degrees cooler than everyone else). It seems I have more than a cold (my husband, of course, suggested it might be swine flu, the dork). 

Anyway, yesterday I didn't do anything. I finished a book (and thoroughly enjoyed it--Gail Carson Levine's Fairest--and I may post on it tomorrow), watched a very little television (why isn't anything ever on?), and generally lay around all day. No exercise at the Y, no obligations except for a bit of work on the online training. 

I'm feeling slightly better today, after spending the night in a coma, but I intend to do nothing again today. The dishes will go unwashed, the laundry will still be in stacks, not put away, toys will remain on the floor, where my kids abandoned them. I'll likely take another nap, and I'll do everything I can to rest. 

What will the break do? Hopefully, I'll get well, and do so faster than I would have if I'd killed myself cleaning up after everyone and running a ton of errands. Perhaps, too, I'll recharge, so that when it comes time to get something done, I'll be able to do it with energy and panache. Too bad it took illness to make me do this (although so far I've lost five pounds this week, so I'm not going to whine about it too much).

Do you need to recharge? How can you do it now, before the obligations that weigh on you make you sick and whiny, too?

Floundering

Oh, I hate it when people ask me how my writing is going lately. Frankly, it isn't, and though I'd planned to do nothing today except laundry and writing, I am now sick with a cold, tired out to the extreme, and I know I am unlikely to write today (except for this blog, and I am forcing myself to write it at this point). 

My online training is fascinating, but it still isn't writing, and now I'm using it as an excuse not to write (in lieu of housework)... I suppose my question is, why on earth am I putting off writing? I have always loved writing. It's always been something that motivated me to bounce out of my bed in the morning (even at three in the morning, sometimes), something that I couldn't wait to do, something that urged me to hurry through the clothes folding, the dishes, and even do so with a smile on my face, knowing once the chores are done I get to work on what I really love.

So, why don't I love it right now? What's wrong? Why do I put it off?

What do all of you think? Today would be a great day to write, since I just want to snuggle up in a blanket and work on the computer... what might I do to motivate myself to get going? I've put off writing long enough.

Your Favorite Teacher

The training I'm involved with right now has sparked memories of some of my favorite teachers. I remember one, Ms. Cutuly, who used to stand on her desk, ready to jump off if we couldn't get a grammar question right. I remember a professor in my undergrad program who taught us everything so that we understood it well enough to teach it, since she knew most of us were future teachers. She had no attendance policy, yet no one ever wanted to miss a day, for we covered tremendous amounts of material in a single class period (no fluff movies and wasteful activities for her!). I remember a professor I visited in her office, to get her to sign me out of a course I'd taken at another school. By the end of the conversation, she was willing to sign the form, but I was determined to take the course again, with her. And I don't regret it, for it was one of the most useful classes I have ever taken (both times I took it!).

Honestly, most of the time school has been the place where I could fill my self-esteem and feel somewhat useful. At home I was overlooked and out of place, and I was often told I was unlikely to amount to a whole lot. At school, I had teachers who thought the world of me, who told me I could be anything, and I couldn't wait to get to school every day so that I could live in that world again, one where I was a SOMEBODY.

But I know my experiences are likely different than yours. What engaged you as a student? What teachers did you love, and why? If you've been waiting for a chance to respond that doesn't include poetry, here's your chance. What makes teachers great? What did you most need as a student, and how did they meet your needs, encourage learning, and make you feel respected and valuable? I'd love to know...

Living in Limericks

Okay, so I acted as if I were going to be up to my eyeballs in training, and wouldn't post for weeks at a time. And here I am, posting. I was going to entitle this entry "Living in Limbo," but I've opted instead for "Living in Limerick." And I don't mean the county in Ireland.

You see, I needed a break. I needed to write a limerick:

There once was a girl named Raquel

Who fell face-first into a well

She couldn't get out

So she swam like a trout

And blubbered, "Well, isn't this swell!"

Or maybe this one:

I once knew a lady, Miss Draper

Who found a lad copied his paper.

She failed him at once,

And then called him a dunce,

And burned off his hair with her taper. (Okay, so I couldn't think of anything else to rhyme!)

This is not the time for perfection. Just rhyme, even if it doesn't make any sense. AABBA... 

You can do it. Believe me, you need this break probably as much as I do... these two stupid limericks took me a whole three minutes to write, so don't sweat the time. Just do it. You'll be amazed at how much better you feel once you try it. 

Writing limericks is like coloring with crayons... fun, without the pressure to be brilliant.

Sorry if I Disappear a Little

I begin what may turn into a 9-week training session tomorrow, so please bear with me if my blogs become few and far between for about a month while I'm getting my feet wet. 

I am also tackling the beginning of my ghost book research, and if the response is anything like it was for my Kansas book, I'm going to be swamped with ghost stories all summer.  Just know, if you don't hear from me for a while at a time, I'm not dead.

Then again, if I go a week without checking in, would somebody e-mail me? My husband knows how to check my e-mail, so he can let everyone know if I am actually dead.

Sounds grim, doesn't it? I sure hope it doesn't end up that way...

Just write something chilling, imaginative, romantic, or old-fashioned (or all of the above, if the urge strikes you), for me, since I'll be too busy to accomplish anything but the chilling kind. And don't forget to notice when I do pop up, so I remember to come back more often, if only for a break from all of my other obligations... 

I'll miss you... (but hopefully not for long)...