The worst birthday I have ever had was in 2003, when I turned 25. I had a migraine which defied the norm and refused to go away despite a dose of both Imitrex and Zomeg. I spent about eight hours on my bed (which was unfortunately situated under the flight line for Lindbergh Field), in excruciating pain. When people called to wish me a happy birthday, the sound of the ringing phone simply made the pain worse. That one wins; it sucked.
My twenty-seventh birthday was this past Sunday, and it was pretty crappy. I had been feeling sickly throughout the past week, and felt really bad on Saturday. I awoke late on Sunday morning, and while I did not feel great, I did not feel worse than I had the day before. I needed to go to the AH to do some lesson planning, so I made my way down there. I did not do much other than check my email and roughly plan my Monday class. I definitely began to feel less pleasant. I decided to bring home all of the worksheets, quizzes and journals that I needed to grade, so that I could grade them from the comfort of my bed. Returning home was a good decision, as things rapidly degenerated. In addition to getting my lovely germs all over my students' stuff (sorry, guys!), I slept a lot, and began coughing and sneezing and in general feeling miserable. Nina M came home around six, and made me dinner. I hadn't eaten anything since breakfast, and was feeling hungry, but imagine my surprise when at the sight of food, my stomach turned. I tried to eat the soup, but couldn't keep it down. I'll spare you the details. Anyhow, Nina M. fussed over me, and tried to make me feel better, but really the whole day was simply horrible. She told me that when her husband was still alive, when she got sick, he used to make her drink a glass (not a shot glass, a regular, tall glass) of vodka, mixed in with a tablespoonful of salt. She said that it was disgusting, but it made her feel better. I was terrified she would try to force me to drink such a concoction, but it didn't happen. She did, however, forbid me from taking a shower. Apparently, according to Russian lore, showering while sick will only make you worse. Unfortunately, according to Annie-lore, showering while sick feels wonderful, like you're steaming all the germs away. But instead of a warm shower, I was sent to bed with extra sweaters and blankets.
Monday was substantially better. I did not set my alarm. (If it had been up to Nina M., I would not have left my bed all day today.) I woke up at 11:00am, and while I did not feel like a normal, healthy person, I didn't feel like I was dying either. Woohoo! I have Russian lessons on Mondays and Thursdays at 11:30am, and unfortunately, I missed my lesson. I hadn't been up to doing my homework the night before anyway, and besides, I doubt my Russian teacher would have appreciated spending an hour and a half in close contact with my germs. We do not have a specific time when we have to be at the AH, so long as we have our lessons prepared before classes begin. I usually go in at 10:00, simply so I can spend a few hours attached at the hip to the internet before beginning my lesson planning. So, when 11:45 rolled around and I hadn't come to check my email or to study Russian, the school called my apartment, and received Nina M’s version of how I was deathly ill. I got on the line and said I wasn't dying, I'd be in. I was not sick enough to stay in bed all day. So, I went to work. They threw a little birthday party for me, and gave me a beautiful bracelet with traditional Russian scenes engraved on it, which I love. And we had cake and fruit, yum! My VEMZ lesson at the end of the day was a little off, simply because I was working off the plan I had written up on Sunday, and apparently I left out some key points. Well, go figure. Anyhow, I am not entirely prepared for tomorrow's classes, so tomorrow morning will be busy. Sigh. At least I am starting to feel better.
Birthdays suck. As a kid, you're conditioned to expect that this one day of the year is somehow special, something to look forward to with great anticipation. It's a day of great celebration all day long, where you're the focus. And when you're a kid, that is essentially true. But the older you get, the less special the day becomes, until one day you realize that your birthday is simply the same as any other day, and the only gift you want is the hot shower your babushka has forbidden you to take. Twenty-seven makes a girl bitter.
My twenty-seventh birthday was this past Sunday, and it was pretty crappy. I had been feeling sickly throughout the past week, and felt really bad on Saturday. I awoke late on Sunday morning, and while I did not feel great, I did not feel worse than I had the day before. I needed to go to the AH to do some lesson planning, so I made my way down there. I did not do much other than check my email and roughly plan my Monday class. I definitely began to feel less pleasant. I decided to bring home all of the worksheets, quizzes and journals that I needed to grade, so that I could grade them from the comfort of my bed. Returning home was a good decision, as things rapidly degenerated. In addition to getting my lovely germs all over my students' stuff (sorry, guys!), I slept a lot, and began coughing and sneezing and in general feeling miserable. Nina M came home around six, and made me dinner. I hadn't eaten anything since breakfast, and was feeling hungry, but imagine my surprise when at the sight of food, my stomach turned. I tried to eat the soup, but couldn't keep it down. I'll spare you the details. Anyhow, Nina M. fussed over me, and tried to make me feel better, but really the whole day was simply horrible. She told me that when her husband was still alive, when she got sick, he used to make her drink a glass (not a shot glass, a regular, tall glass) of vodka, mixed in with a tablespoonful of salt. She said that it was disgusting, but it made her feel better. I was terrified she would try to force me to drink such a concoction, but it didn't happen. She did, however, forbid me from taking a shower. Apparently, according to Russian lore, showering while sick will only make you worse. Unfortunately, according to Annie-lore, showering while sick feels wonderful, like you're steaming all the germs away. But instead of a warm shower, I was sent to bed with extra sweaters and blankets.
Monday was substantially better. I did not set my alarm. (If it had been up to Nina M., I would not have left my bed all day today.) I woke up at 11:00am, and while I did not feel like a normal, healthy person, I didn't feel like I was dying either. Woohoo! I have Russian lessons on Mondays and Thursdays at 11:30am, and unfortunately, I missed my lesson. I hadn't been up to doing my homework the night before anyway, and besides, I doubt my Russian teacher would have appreciated spending an hour and a half in close contact with my germs. We do not have a specific time when we have to be at the AH, so long as we have our lessons prepared before classes begin. I usually go in at 10:00, simply so I can spend a few hours attached at the hip to the internet before beginning my lesson planning. So, when 11:45 rolled around and I hadn't come to check my email or to study Russian, the school called my apartment, and received Nina M’s version of how I was deathly ill. I got on the line and said I wasn't dying, I'd be in. I was not sick enough to stay in bed all day. So, I went to work. They threw a little birthday party for me, and gave me a beautiful bracelet with traditional Russian scenes engraved on it, which I love. And we had cake and fruit, yum! My VEMZ lesson at the end of the day was a little off, simply because I was working off the plan I had written up on Sunday, and apparently I left out some key points. Well, go figure. Anyhow, I am not entirely prepared for tomorrow's classes, so tomorrow morning will be busy. Sigh. At least I am starting to feel better.
Birthdays suck. As a kid, you're conditioned to expect that this one day of the year is somehow special, something to look forward to with great anticipation. It's a day of great celebration all day long, where you're the focus. And when you're a kid, that is essentially true. But the older you get, the less special the day becomes, until one day you realize that your birthday is simply the same as any other day, and the only gift you want is the hot shower your babushka has forbidden you to take. Twenty-seven makes a girl bitter.
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