The Sick House

We've been sick at our house. For about 3 weeks! My husband, (let's call him C, shall we?) C had a full body rash, followed by the flu, followed by a cough / viral throat infection. I just had the regular old flu. Is there some mountain mama that's put a hex on us Yankees? Seriously, what the eff? And I'm the kind of strange gal that goes around wiping door knobs and handles with disinfectant wipes. One of my favorite things to do is bleach out the sink. ( I used to be fun?) I throw the sponges in the water and can here all the bacteria screaming for their lives. It's good stuff.

So we (me and C) are still banging our heads against the wall trying to gain employment in this weird town that seems to subsist on fluff. Really. I mean, there is no industry to speak of. Yet, 2, yes 2, companies exist here in Asheville that provide classes in aerial arts. And you'll have no problem finding a place to get a colonic. It's just that kind of place. Everyone is an entrepreneur. Everyone has a creative idea and a van. Part of that I'm attracted to, but another part just wants to find a job job so I can put my full attention on my writing. I don't need a career. I want to write. But the job jobs are tougher to get than we bargained for, plus the whole world went insane. I guess there is some peace in knowing we are not alone.

All in all still happy here. Sometimes it feels as if nothing has changed. But then I am reminded, yes, again at the grocery store (Wingles / 3rd World Ingles) when I come across a man with a ripped T-shirt, 5 o'clock shadow, a severe underbite, carrying a gallon of buttermilk, whistling "Old Susana". Dorothy, you're not in Jersey anymore...