Wednesday, Mar. 31, 2004
Dear Diary:

Well, it has come to this: for the last week or so I've had to take an afternoon nap.

Can a special blankie and endless renditions of "Itsy Bitsy Spider" be far behind?

I Think Not!

From talking to friends and the comments folks have left, I've come to realize that I have a case of Bell's Palsy Lite, but it's still knocked me on my butt. If all I had to handle was work and gym, I could probably deal, but right now we're also making maple syrup. Trying to juggle the three is more than I can do so to keep going after lunch I have to take a half hour nap.

A nap. Oh, the humiliation.

My small tabby cat, Norma, is simply mental with joy over this turn of events, a situation she regards as Our Special Bonding Time. I lie down and she immediately hops on the bed and starts frantically kneading my stomach with her front paws. After she considers my stomach properly "done" she lies down beside me and goes to sleep.

Except, she doesn't quietly curl up. No, what she does is crawl off my stomach, stand beside me, and then do this timmmmmberrrrrrrrr thing where she keeps her legs stiff and falls over so that her back lands with a thunk on my waist. This extremely goofy ritual has been repeated with every afternoon nap.

Do I adopt eccentric cats, or is there something about me that makes my cats eccentric? Hrm.

Happily, I'm well on the way to recovery from the partial facial paralysis now. For the last day I haven't even had to goop my eye, so I can actually see the world in focus again instead through a blur of protective goo.

You would think this would be a source of much rejoicing, but oh, no. To paraphrase Descartes, "I whine, therefore I am."

This fatigue business is really ticking me off. Oh, I could be brave and soldier on and pretend that nothing is wrong, but Where Is The Fun In That?

My thoughts, exactly.

The sugar house was crawling with people on the weekend when we were making syrup. It makes sense because I mean, really, what's more wonderful than being in a building that smells like maple sugar goodness? Add to that the fact that you can dip home made doughnuts into a cup with hot maple syrple fresh from the arch and frankly, I think we're talking nirvana here.

Normally I give zero thought to what I wear sugaring because I'm there to work. (There are those who would claim I give zero thought to my wardrobe all the time, but I'll have you know that it's work to be this fashion-challenged).

A big honking case of Quasimodo Face meant a few decisions had to be made, though. I weighed my two fashion options:

1) The Igor Look which involved the unvarnished presentation of my partially frozen face and distorted eye (which from time to time wept a tiny amount of protective goo). Mmmmmmmmmmm mmmmmmmmm good.

Imagine me as She-gor, greeting you at the door. "Welcome to the sugar house. Would you like to see what's boiling in the cauldron?"

2) The Unibomber Look which involved a baseball cap pulled down over as much of the face as possible and sunglasses to obscure the freakish eye.

Imagine a tall woman, her face obscured in a semi-menacing bank robber type get-up meeting you at the door. "Welcome to the sugar house. Would you like to read my manifesto?"

Eventually I decided to go with Door #2 which I know was off-putting to people that did not know me, but I'm thinking that the Igor look would have been even more off-putting. So there.

Let's see, have I whined about everything now? Oh, wait ...

My beloved running has taken a major hit. Try as I might, I can't run over three miles in one piece. I can run three miles, take a two minute breather, and run another mile, but those continuous five mile runs I was doing just a few weeks ago seem oh so very, very far away at this moment.

Even worse, my 10K/6.2 mile run is the first Sunday in June which feels stupidly close. I have some major stamina rebuilding to do between now and then.

Between my naps, of course.

Oh man.

Naps.

I can't stand it, eh.

--Marn

Mileage on the Marnometer: 278.33 miles. Ten percent there rubber duck.Ten percent there rubber duck. 25 per cent there
Oh man. This is going to be hard
Goal for 2004: 1,000 miles - 1609 kilometers

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She's mellllllllllllllting - Wednesday, Feb. 15, 2012 - Back off, Buble - Monday, Dec. 19, 2011 - Dispersed - Monday, Nov. 28, 2011 - Nothing comes for free - Monday, Nov. 21, 2011 - None of her business - Friday, Nov. 04, 2011 -


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This template is a riff on a design by the truly talented Quinn. Because I'm a html 'tard, I got alot of pity coding to modify it from Ms. Kittay, a woman who can make html roll over, beg, and bring her her slippers. The logo goodness comes from the God of Graphics, the Fuhrer of Fonts, the one, the only El Presidente. I smooch you all. The background image is part of a painting called Higher Calling by Carter Goodrich which graced the cover of the Aug. 3, 1998 issue of The New Yorker Magazine.

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