And so, as I drink unsweetened Apple Cinnamon tea, having eaten my second Vitamin C horse tablet and preparing to eat my sixth clementine in as many hours (in which sleep was also included), I must say….blech. I can’t remember the last time I lost my voice, either. It’s a rather startling phenomena/disability. But strangely intriguing? Don’t ask. Suffice it to say, I’m sort of enjoying it. (Only the voice thing.)
Did I mention that upon “talking” to my dad on the phone last night, he – realizing, I assume, my adultivity though that’s debatable – proceeded to ask in a sweet voice, “You lost your voice? Have you looked in the lost and found?” To which, in my mind, I dryly replied, “I’m almost 30, Dad.” Instead, I wheezed, “har har har” and thought him adorable.
I’ll have something to say about the Hunger Games trailer as soon as I watch it with sound. (If you’re asking why I’d need to make comment, you clearly are not of my twitter community. Or facebook family.)
Wait, speaking of my 67-yo father. Reason #InsertImaginaryImpossibleNumberHere that I would choose to be his daughter if the choice had been up to me: He was swooning last night about his plan to see Melancholia, and soon. His love of listening to NPR and of film was overwhelmed by an interview with Lars von Trier that left him insisting upon retelling every detail of Mr. von Trier’s very OCD organization of his days. While I sort of tuned this part out – not just because I’m a bratty daughter who can’t seem to act her age, but because sometimes parents assume if they just found something out that the world is equally uninformed – it reminded me of something awesome from senior year of high school. NPR’s interview of Trent Reznor made for the hands-down best drive-home of me and Dad’s illustrious long-drive career. After which, my father sang along to “We’re In This Together”.
You’re awesome, Dad. And watch Melancholia as devoid of information as possible, except for this: the first half of the movie is Melancholia attempting to survive the world; the second half of the movie is the world trying to survive Melancholia. #swoon (Yes, I get to prime him because I know we’ll be discussing it once he’s done. Duh.)
Finally, despite my son’s tireless efforts, my schedule has effectively managed to stop progress in the wip. (G’head and punch me in the baby maker for saying that.) It’s my problem, I’ll deal with it. Maybe even write some really eye-popping randomness while I have a stuffy head and the inability to express myself verbally (unless you count sounding like I’m pre-op).
I should lie down.