On Tuesday, I became violently ill in the car.
Tuesday was supposed to be the day that I explored the Ostozhenka neighborhood for my architecture group and went to lunch in Chistye Prudye for my book club. I had ambitiously hoped to stop by the grocery store for fresh fruit for Abby's lunches. I made it to Krylatsky Hills (Parry's office), asked to use the facilities (went through TWO security checks for the privilege), threw up everything my stomach and proceded to take the metro into town to run one critical errand. No fun on Starry Arbat, having my MakTost from McD's. No lovely lunch. Just march down to my architecture group leader's house, retrieve a two-wheeled shopping trolley's worth of thermoses and haul back to the Smolyenskaya metro as fast as possible.
By the time I arrived in Rosinka, I crawled onto the couch, feeling like death with the addition of an exploding migraine. I don't remember what I did except feel like the inside of a barf bag on a transatlantic flight.
Wednesday, I had another "must do" meeting and a flu shot scheduled at Anglo American. I did what I rarely do and I took a strong (read: narcotic) painreliever, in a SMALL dose, to get me through the morning. I had to meet three lovely ladies for a meeting at Akademia Cafe by Christ the Savior Cathedral. Did I mention I was in charge? I was now having all the symptoms of the weirdest infection ever--stomach issues, sinus issues, headache, backache, swollen glands, low grade fever. Yet I marched through my meeting, sipping my thyme tea and did a walkthrough the Ostozhenka neighborhood in all its nouveau riche Luzhkovian glory. In the midst of all this, I had some nagging feeling about getting home. How was I planning on getting home? I knew there was a plan but I couldn't recall it. I had scheduled not one, but three trips to the center for this week and I had some memory that this was the day I needed to catch the 3:55PM bus to get home. Or was it?
One of the cool ladies I was working with volunteered to have her driver take me home. She had a sweet late model black Mercedes sedan with a young, eager to please and friendly young man behind the steering wheel. Being half dazed from starvation (At this point, I had been living off crackers, Coca-Cola and white bread for more than 24 hours) and a little whacked from the codeine, I couldn't help but say yes. Who doesn't like being treated like a princess in a nice car?
I staggered home, day two, took my migraine medicine (no codeine) and started to sort out all my notes for the architecture walk. At 3:45, my cellphone rings. A number I don't recognize. I couldn't figure out who it was until the caller identified himself as my driver, Andre. The fact that I don't recognize my driver's cellphone should be a clue as to what a great relationship I have with my driver. I had totally spaced off that my husband had scheduled my driver to pick me up at the school. I felt horrible but at the same time, I thought that if the only thing I've really done wrong in 3 years is to forget a pick up, he's pretty lucky.
Still, I felt like I was doing a walk of shame to the car today on my way to pick up Lindsey for lunch. He must think I'm really stupid. Of course, I think that my behavior yesterday only affirms what he already thinks. Lindsey and I took an extra long time at lunch today. We filled the car with groceries. Our timing meant we were stuck in the post-school traffic rush. I unapologetically sat in the back, reading Anna Karenina. He didn't offer to help me carry my groceries to the house and I thought "Good riddance. You're getting PAID to help me."
I did eat one meal today that wasn't Coca-Cola and crackers. I had Linguine Goodman and green salad. However, I don't think I can manage more than that. I suspect I may actually have an ulcer, believe it or not because no matter what I eat or what I do, my stomach hurts.
Continuing the theme of the weird week: this morning, I woke up from a nightmare where I dreamed that I had been murdered and had my head cut off. I borrowed another body, sewed the head back on my dead corpse, then tried to confront the people (who looked like middle class housewives) who murdered me and threw me in a dumpster. They didn't recognize me, naturally, because I was in a new body. I woke up just as the murder investigation was getting underway. This time, the Nestle water delivery man, who had been TOLD not to come until 11AM, showed up at 7:30 (I had been up at 5:30, sent Abby to school at 6:30 and crawled back into bed). When I showed up at the door bleary eyed in my PJ's, I suspect he got the message that the customer was ticked--when I say 11, I mean 11.Whether I am grateful that he woke me up from a nightmare or cranky because I had a lousy sleep, I can't say.
I still have a headache. I still can't eat normally. I have architecture walk tomorrow and I will take to my couch as soon as I get home. YES I CAN! I can survive this weird week. I can grow my brain back. I can wrap my brain around the weather forecast that says we'll have snow on Tuesday and we'll be looking at below zero temperatures for the remainder of the week.
I keep telling myself that I have 23 days until fall break.
