Gripe Whimper Gripe
2004-12-28, 2:39 p.m.

Calendars. Clocks. Man�s pale attempt to corral that dimension we call Time into something under our control, giving us the impression we are more than corks bobbing along in the cosmic sea. We fool ourselves into thinking that if we can but cross this self-made boundary, this pencil-drawn line into another hour or day or week or month or year, everything will magically be better.

This being said, December sucks and I am ready for it to be over.

What has heaved it over the jagged edge of suckitude? As if there hasn�t been enough strife crammed into the past few weeks, today I am sick. And is The Universe content with dangling me from a string of illness which I can handle? Chills or headache or saw off a rather useful limb? Nooooooooooooooo. I have a stomach bug. Since the wee hours of the a.m. I have been caught in that twilight of quease, where you cannot actually barf but your belly is unsettled enough that you curl in a ball and whine. I also have a temperature of 99.6 degrees. That is not enough for anyone within sympathetic range to consider that you actually have fever, but it is just enough to make you feel like total crap and ball up and whine some more.

I want chicken soup. We have cream of mushroom.

I want ginger ale. We have milk.

Curl. Whine.

Attempting to occupy my mind by something other than gastrointestinal misery, I browsed this online eco-friendly frugal tip for oven cleaning:
�Set your oven on warm for about 20 minutes, then turn it off. Place a small dish of full-strength ammonia on the top shelf and put a large pan of boiling water on the bottom shelf. Let the two sit in the oven overnight. In the morning, open the oven and let it air out before washing the interior with soap and water. Using this method, even the hard baked-on grease will wash off easily.�

Perhaps it�s me, but I would probably be overcome with ammonia fumes upon opening the oven, and would perish amidst a pool of grime on the oven door. Or someone would get smart and turn it on, blasting us somewhere over the Ozarks. There�s a lot to be said for a dirty oven. If it gets too bad, just eat out from then on. No sense in trying to annihilate yourself for the sake of removing that burnt-on apple pie residue.

I took a nice long hot bath in an attempt to boil off some germs. So now instead of dirty, cold, and miserable, I�m clean, hot, and miserable. Joy.

Curl. Whine.

At least Christmas itself was good. It�s a time to force ourselves to reconnect with family and friends, to give of ourselves, to hopefully review and renew our relationship with Christ if you so believe. I find it amusing that the chosen date has nothing whatsoever to do with Christ, but was a compromise so the converting Dionysians could party on, dude while joining the fold. Who are we to turn down the fun? Set that yule log aflame and let the good times begin.

I still have to put away the aftermath of those good times. Unpack suitcases. Do laundry.

Curl. Whine.

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