Superwoman is Dead

She's dead. Cremated. Ashes scattered in the ocean. Read the obit.

I am a freaking sucker for life lessons but my notorious obstinacy could be the only thing that could counter that. Everything in me has been telling me to slow the eff down, but I just would not dare listen. I got the world on top of my palm. Why stop now?

Until I'm pummeled with chills, fever and relentless coughing (oh boy, this will undoubtedly result in a phone call from my mother, her finger wagging "I told you so..."). I had pain in so many places. I have been in bed for days, listless and lethargic, like someone in a coma, only getting up to potty and get sips of water. It was utter misery but I somehow did not have it in me the audacity to whine and moan. I deserved this ass kicking. Newton's Third Law of Motion: To every action, there is an equal but opposite reaction.

A trip to the doctor and a prescription of antibiotics ultimately saved my life (Mother, this is meant in the metaphorical sense...). It's day four and I'm glad that I didn't have as many near-death experiences as the night before, and I had restored a little bit of appetite, hence the amaretto almond crunch.

I cleaned up the room and tried to shoo the germs out as best as I could. I was underneath fresh covers laying on fresh sheets immersed in the warm sunshine that embraced my room. I have Frank Sinatra crooning while I ruminate on what a humbling experience it has been.

Pencils have erasers. Let's see if I get to use mine.

Namaste.
Trish