Phillip got it first, then Lindsay, then Campbell, and sometime between buying another box of tissues and making a big pot of chicken soup, I got it, too. Like I even stood a chance. My children attend one school, my husband teaches at another, and I work at a hospital. There is NO way I'm not meeting some germs now and again. And meet them I have: The throat, the aches, the general malaise. General health and sanitation at our house this week are at about the level of Calcutta.
The good news is that on this, day 4, of the viral assault on Huff house, some of the victims are showing signs of life. Phillip seems well enough to sit up and take beer, and Campbell is more bored than weak. We ladies are still on our faces, but seeing the gents regaining strength is encouraging.
Yesterday I was too tired to knit, which you know must be some kinda record. Phillip suggested it might be one of the seven signs.
Lacking the chops for even stockinette in the round (I tried, really), I dragged the laptop up to the bed and drew the chart for a mitten. OCD is a really useful neurosis, in that its carriers tend to be very productive when properly harnessed. But when you have OCD and lack the physical strength to either Obsess or Compulse, the Disorder part can really kick your butt. Laying still and telling yourself to rest helps like handing an an anvil to a swimmer. No, I need something to turn off the brain and its ceaseless cries of "HEY! Why Dontcha_________?" in order to induce the required stillness.
Phillip, who has no such problems, watches me putter from the bed, where I am too bored to lay, to the laundry room, where I am totally unable to do anything more than rub my eyes and make guttural noises, to the knitting basket, where I paw helplessly at the UFO's, and back to the bed, where I collapse in a heap again, only to start the process over again a few minutes later. "It will all still be there when you get better," he says. "Just relax so you can be well enough to fidget properly later." He is right, and do try, but when I close my eyes, charts dance behind my lids. When I fold my hands, my fingers itch to feel yarn.
Still, things could be worse - I am so happy to have actually gotten the crud NOW, and not a week from now. There are few things nastier than getting on a plane with a cold, so I'm super-glad to be doing this now, and not at my book signing at Rhinebeck.
One of the things I did by way of distracting myself was to crack the covers of my Elizabeth Zimmerman books. You know, that lady really knew her way around her seamless sweaters. It occurred to me that I have never used her percentage system to make a sweater, and I happen to have recently begun one that is a perfect candidate. I'll show it to you, just as soon as my nose stops running.
