July 28, 2011

How to Make Beds When You Have Acute ME


Sit down.

Remember that there was something you needed to do.  Stand up.  Decide that whatever it was wasn’t that urgent.  Sit down again.

Remember that you have hellhounds.  Look at hellhounds.  Look at hellhounds looking at you.  Contemplate the concept of ‘walking’.*

Put harnesses on hellhounds.  The problem with putting harnesses on hellhounds while sitting down is that hellhounds immediately hurl themselves in your lap.  Serially.  But with great emphasis.**  Guys.  Do you want to go out, or do you want to go on with this really bad impression of Yorkshire terriers?***

Totter outdoors.†  Totter several times around a block or several blocks or some damn block-like things.  Or something.  Pick up dog crap by kneeling down first, so you don’t fall over.

Go home again.

Sit down.

Take harnesses off hellhounds.

Stare.  At anything.  It doesn’t matter what. ††

Become aware that you have been sitting staring for rather a long time.  Remember that there is something you need to do.  Have vague memory trace that it has something to do with Third House. 

Groan.  Put harnesses back on amenable hellhounds.†††

Trudge up to Third House.‡  Convince hellhounds to lie on a perfectly nice comfy pile of blankets‡‡ in the sitting room.

Sitting room?

Sit down.‡‡‡

Stand up.  The sofa you’re sitting on is one of the beds that needs making up.  First you have to take all the cushions off and then you have to pull—pull—it open before you even get to the sheet thing.  We do not do this . . . pulling.  Whimper.

Stagger into bathroom and cling onto linen cupboard door for support.  Stare at pile of sheets.  Remember how much trouble you and Fiona had trying to find the one fitted sheet big enough to go on the queen-size in the bedroom.§

Take sheets into sitting room. 

Sit down.

Decide to tackle the sofa with the pulling-out thing last.

Go back into bathroom.  Stare into linen cupboard some more.  Pray to the Linen Fairy.  Pick up likely-looking pair of sheets and take them into bedroom. . . .

The fitted sheet FITS. 

Attempt to do small shaky jig of joy, and a salaam to the Linen Fairy.

Sit down.

Put pillow cases on pillows.

Sit down.

Go yet again into the bathroom and stare into the depths of the linen cupboard.  Pick out third pair of sheets and some more pillow cases.  Creep upstairs on hands and knees and collapse panting at the top.§§

Sit down.

Make bed in attic.

Sit down.

Go back downstairs again.  Possibly on your bum, like a two-year-old.

Sit down.  Fend off hellhounds, who were afraid a roc was going to sweep into the attic and steal you away.

Stand up.  Go into sitting room.

Sit down.

Make bed.  Including the pulling-out thing.

Lie down.  Fail to fend off delighted hellhounds.

. . . It was all worth it though.  Our visitors brought champagne. 

* * *

* We elect not to contemplate the concept of ‘hurtling’.

** This is particularly unpopular when I’m wearing shorts.^

^ My weather aps keep predicting summer weather.   They keep lying.  I put on shorts . . . and then I put on a sweater.  I feel silly in shorts and a sweater.

*** Or possibly Jack Russells.  It’s amazing how high those legless little frellers can jump.  I was assaulted by a Jack Russell puppy today—fortunately the hellhounds were not present—so once he was already in my lap I turned him over and rubbed his tummy, and he nearly died of joy.  Not one of your dominant dogs then.  I’m even on record as disliking Jack Russells^, but I like anything that is made this happy this easily.  And, you know, puppies. . . . 

^ I dislike Labs too, for exactly the same reason, that I’ve met too many of them wrecked by stupid humans.  We had another non-incident yesterday that I had no way of knowing was going to be a non-incident:  a frelling Lab on the far side of the little park we were walking across which I assumed was far enough away and wasn’t—and I am so not in the mood for an adrenaline spike when I saw the thing streaking toward us with all its hair up and its useless owner vaguely calling after it.  I had just about ascertained that it was a bitch, which possibly meant this was going to be less of a bloodbath than I feared with two male hellhounds, when she . . . slammed on the brakes and sat down about six feet away . . . and turned her back toward us.  Hopefully, if you can turn your back on someone hopefully.  I know this is a submissive thing, but I find it a hoot every time—I’ve also chiefly seen it in female Labs, I don’t know if they’re particularly prone?+  So I permitted the hellhounds to lunge in her direction, and there was general rejoicing.  Dogs.  Gah.  Oh, the useless owner was still on the far side of the park, calling vaguely.  I nearly went home with a third dog.  I might not have minded. 

+ Supine really.

† Attempting to rebuff Chaos, who wants to bite the insides of my bare thighs.  Ow.  If this were a paranormal romance he would suddenly morph into Alan Rickman^.  It is not a paranormal romance, and Chaos is a twerp.

^ And we would both be thirty years younger 

†† If I am sitting in the chair by the front door, I am facing the tallboy, which mysteriously has a number of fake roses tied, clipped to and hanging from it.  Next to it on the wall is a meat save . . . with a particularly excellent fake rose appended to its dome.  Hey, I know what I like, and so do all my friends. 

††† Oooh.  We’re going out again already?  Oooooh. 

‡ Where the pond is full of waterlilies.  Palest pale pink waterlilies.  For these waterlilies I almost forgive my predecessor for the ducky and chickie tiles in the kitchen.^   I’ll try to remember to take a picture.

^ And the plastic baronial chandelier. 

‡‡ Noooooo!  This is not our bed!  This is not our space!  We cannot lie here!  We must tirelessly patrol the borders!  Tirelessly!  Patrol! 

‡‡‡ Ooooh, say the hellhounds, who were looking for an excuse not to lie down any more.^  Isn’t that a sofa you’re sitting on?  That looks a lot like a sofa to us.  Weren’t you saying something about wanting us to lie down?  

^ They’ve been lying down at least twenty seconds.  What am I expecting?  Miracles? 

§ There used to be three.  Where did the other two go?  Burglars?  Bats

§§ The carpet up there is still new and, you know, shiny.  Lying on it is a pleasure.


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