Holden gets really sick at the end of Catcher. He's been wandering around New York City in the middle of December, sitting in Central Park in the middle of the night, sleeping in bus terminals. He can barely walk at the conclusion of the book.
My daughter is sick today. I think she has the same thing my son had yesterday. She's been lying in bed all day with a bucket. She hasn't thrown up at all. She's too darn stubborn to do that, even though she would feel so much better if she did. My son, yesterday after he vomited, ate his lunch and a few white fudge-covered Oreos. My daughter, in contrast, prefers to remain nauseous. What can I say? She's a teenager.
I have no new poem or new cartoon for you guys tonight. I have not been lazy today. On the contrary, I've been quite busy. I took my son to a Christmas party this morning so he could sit on Santa's lap and ask for gifts I can't afford to buy him. Then this afternoon, I worked on my house again with my sister-in-law. We cleaned bookshelves, moved furniture, talked about converting the attic into a bedroom for my daughter. And then, after I finished at home, I had to go to mass this evening and play the pipe organ,
I'm beat, and I don't really have anything to show for it. My house looks great, and I have a bag of candy bars my son got from Santa. I need to work on my Christmas poem, and I need to write out my Christmas cards. I also need to take a picture of my kids in their Christmas outfits tomorrow.
Oh, yeah, my kids have a Christmas program at church in the morning. And then a birthday party for my daughter, and then a Christmas concert in the evening.
No wonder Saint Marty has no new anything this evening.
|My son wants world peace and a Nintendo 3DS (whatever the hell that is)|
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