Snippets. I’m living my life in snippets. And I’ve come to realize if I hope to blog my way through this particular phase of existence then I’d better learn to blog in snippets, too.

Being sick for me looks like a roller coaster. Slogging through the worst of it is climbing that really big hill before the first drop. I’m dying. I think I’m dying. No, seriously, just shoot me, this is slow death here. It’s brutal, interminable, and I feel like I’m moving through molasses but somehow regular life still pounds on the door demanding attention from my congested body. But there’s a tipping point, that moment when the car crests the peak and begins to lean toward a downward rush into clarity.

Today was that day. I woke up after eleven hours of sleep a new woman. Or if not a new woman then at least a woman who can survive with cold medicine and a box of tissues close at hand. Now for a few snippet thoughts.

Living in a house that needs to be ready to show at a moment’s notice is like being OCD on an adrenaline drip after a triple shot of espresso. Every teeny dust mote suddenly has its own spotlight. Not that living in a house with four human beings, two dogs, and a cat doesn’t bring enough grime on the daily.

One month ago I’d have said there was a zero percent chance of being pulled over with a bag of dirty laundry stuffed in the back seat. Piled up and over in the laundry room? Yes. But not rolling around town with it buckled in back. Now? When someone calls at two o’clock and says they want to show the house at six? Let’s just say there’s a chance the cop will wonder if I’m hauling a body around waiting to stumble across a dumpster.

I’m obsessed with the Netflix series The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel. Seriously, guys, this show is so good. You know, if you’re looking for something that makes you laugh until tears run down your face. It’s good for that. [Edit: My friend Carol pointed out that this is an Amazon Prime series and yes, indeed, it is. Writing through the cough medicine fog. The struggle is real.]

And apparently that’s my limit for coherent thought today. I feel the fogginess of crud descending so it’s hit publish now or perish forever.