I’m sick

I am sick. I do not have TIME to be sick. I can NOT be sick.

There is four weeks left to classes at CMU and five at Kirtland. I have finals coming up. I have a major research proposal to complete, a 7-page academic paper and a 15-page academic paper, plus a writing workshop and more. I do NOT have time to be sick.

Not to mention I have about 36 papers that need a final grade and another 18 that need editing to be handed back for a rewrite.

Plus an upcoming special edition of the student newspaper. Which, technically, I don’t have to do much for it, but if I did/could it would be easier in lots of ways.

And I’m sick. Stuffy head, runny/stuffy nose (I swear it has a faucet I can’t find that keeps getting randomly turned on and off), watery and itchy eyes, and my ribs ache from my coughing.

I am not even touching on the usual house/kids things that are not being done in my absence.

I don’t do sick well because my schedule doesn’t allow for me to be sick. I don’t care if this is a clue that I need to slow down. It is not a clue I can stop and examine NOW. Now I have stuff to do. Get back to me in four weeks or so. THEN I can stop and examine and actually be sick. Maybe even for a whole week. But until then? No. Not NOW. Go away evil sickness. Go away now.

My mom, upon hearing I’m sick, blames New York City. I guess I shouldn’t have mentioned how cold and windy it was and how I didn’t take a winter coat, but that’s why we opted not to go on the ferry to see the Statue of Liberty. I had lots of layers on. We must not blame NYC.

Mom, by the way, came over on Friday. We went out to dinner. She stayed the night. I hit her car. She leaves tomorrow for Arizona. What’s that?

OH, the car thing. See, mom’s car was parked in front of our garage and we needed to take something in the house, so Steve moved Mom’s car. Except our yard was full of various cars, and he parked it in front of the house on the side of the driveway where no one parks. No one. Fast forward four hours and I was backing up my van in my normal manner. I tend to back up a bit, and then I turn the rear of my vehicle to the left, so that when I pull out of my driveway, I’m facing forward.

I would have been fine if I kept going straight back. But right about the time I normally turn, Mom’s car was in my way. We avoided major damage. We just swapped some paint. No dings. Thankfully. I told Mom I gave her something to think of me. I’m very glad I didn’t hurt her car (or mine).

Steve says I should look when I back up. I should.

I knew her car was there. Mom had just grabbed her coat out of it. Yet still, years of habit and the fact that no one ever parks there (because I’d hit them — that’s why!), and me being an idiot all combined and ended up in scrapped paint. I’ve done worse things to my parents car in the past, but I don’t think I’ve ever felt as bad. As a teen driver, I was more concerned with how the totalled Escort prevented ME from going on Spring Break in Florida. I didn’t think of insurance, and car repairs, and car payments. But now, even though the damage is less, the guilt is so much more. Sorry, Mom. And next time, I’ll look. Ugh.