Tuesday, December 24, 2002
It is chilly outside, and the light precipitation forms a delicate mist that softly dampens everything like a big, wet sneeze.
Inside her cozy apartment, Teri has the heat cranked up to eighty degrees. She is clad in flannel pajamas and fleece socks, with her fluffy purple robe and a blanket wrapped tightly around her; yet she's shivering with chills nonetheless. She sits quietly in front of her computer, and the monitor's light reflects from her glasses and her glazed eyes. The Sudafed doesn't seem to be working. She holds a wad of tissue to her face as if it were an oxygen mask; the "big, wet sneeze" metaphor has a lot of relevance right now.
A half-packed bag sits on the floor of her bedroom, next to a large piece of furniture which is so heaped with clean but unfolded laundry that it is only discernible as a bed upon close inspection. Tomorrow Teri will embark, bright and early, on her two-and-a-half-hour journey back to Tomball. She is going "home for the holidays", and her feelings about it are mixed at best. But, in the spirit of Christmas, she has resolved to make the most of her week at home, to be cheerful and full of goodwill to everyone. It's a nice thought, anyway.
For the fiftieth time tonight, she presses her hand to her forehead and attempts to determine whether she is feverish. Teri also wishes desperately that she had a cup of mint tea and a bowl of potato soup. She isn't picky, though; even just the comforting warmth of Top Ramen would be manna from heaven. She wanders into the kitchen. Alas! Teri's pantry is empty of nearly everything but croutons, Honey Nut Cheerios, and Quaker Instant Oatmeal. Milk is absent from the fridge; so oatmeal it is. She debates for a brief moment whether or not croutons would go well with cinnamon spice flavored oatmeal, but decides that it is not the time for experimentation.
She nukes the oatmeal for the required two minutes and brings it back into her bedroom, where she finishes typing her blog entry as she waits for the gooey glop of oaty goodness to cool. A couple of quick glances -- one out her bedroom window and the other at the Intellicast forecast -- assure her that the nasty rain that has persisted all day will not continue tomorrow morning; but Teri will still have the pleasure of driving home on Christmas Eve with traffic and wet roads. She is hardly able to contain her joy.
Procrastinating as usual, she tells herself that packing can wait until the morning. After all, it is already nearly midnight, and the Sudafed's drowsy side-effect is starting to kick in even if nothing else about the medication is working. She finishes off her oatmeal and, sniffing piteously, decides to retire for the night. Teri has a feeling that tomorrow will not be the best of times.
Happy holidays, indeed.
| 12:00 AM |
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