Worst. Year. Ever. for sickness. Since about October or November, The Bean and I have been hit with whatever’s going around and then some. January was the worst ever. Flu for him, flu for me, cold for him, sinus infection for me … cold for me. Worst ever.

Until February. Starting last week, it was like this: Flu for him. Flu for me. Chipper recovery for him, though a lingering cough prevented him going back to preschool (which he just started on Feb. 1 after January’s round, I might add). Disgusting mystery illness for me that involved progressively worsening nausea and the nastiness that goes with that. The only reason the blog had anything was because I was bedridden–just put a few things up whenever I felt well enough. My mother’s here now taking care of us, and she doesn’t fly 2000 miles across the country for little trifling colds. We are sick as dogs. I’m on the mend, but it’ll come slowly. Meanwhile, just as I am beginning the upswing a bit, the boy comes down with high fever and a stomach bug.

I swear, if I start throwing up again I will hunt down and kill the person who gave us this one. As soon as we are well, we are getting the hell out of this infested hive of a state where the temperature doesn’t freeze anything to death even in the dead of winter and going out to my mother’s country place. In North Carolina. Far from many of the things of man. Far from noise and disease-ridden human beings. To bring out that old saw, I am sick and tired of being sick and fracking tired. No CPAC for me. No nothing much for me, including food.

At least I’m well enough to feel like watching a movie. Mom hasn’t yet seen The Illusionist. Edward Norton is positively mesmerizing. Mmm, Edward Norton.