I assume this is what your Christmas morning looks like by now. I'm just having my first sip of hot coffee in a cold and empty house after a terrible night. Covid got me again, this time in the form of the vaccine.
By yesterday afternoon, I was feeling achey all over. I had already done everything I needed to do--bought presents and groceries--by the time I headed over to my mother's house. I was going to make a spaghetti carbonara. I had champagne and chianti Classico and thought I could muscle through. But when I got there, I just collapsed. Maybe it was the sun going down. You know, sundowner's syndrome. I fell onto the couch and closed my eyes. . . and the room began to spin. "My" vertigo came charging back full bore. And nothing I did made it stop. I was miserable. I told my mother I couldn't make dinner. We ate the arugula salad and turned on t.v. I put on "The Ricardos" and tried to sit perfectly still in her recliner while I alternately sweat through my shirt and then got the chills. She was not for me driving home at movie's end, but I had to go home for various reasons, one of which was that I could not find my phone.
It was sitting on the kitchen counter when I returned.
We did not open gifts last night, those gifts we said we would not exchange this year. And I feel bad now, for the hour is late and I am still muddled from the double dose of Avid P.M. I took last night. I am not sure how I feel yet this morning, but I know it is not good.
For some reason, I thought of cartoon strips this morning. I remembered that when I wrote about the cartoon strips in the Sunday paper, I had forgotten about this one. "Blondie." I guess watching "The Ricardos" last night must have reminded me of it. It was always at the top of the cartoon page and always one of the largest.
I have to try to get my shit together and get over to my mother's. It is Christmas.
The most miserable one I've ever spent.