Sickness and Family Portraits

go hand in hand, don't they? i decided to draft this blog very unconventionally, and write it down manually on paper first. this decision was made for several reasons, the primary being that i am laying sick in bed, and am rather distant from my faithful computer. which is really quite tragic. *wail* i miss it so!! however, my room does have its benefits. for example, i sure wouldn't have a stash of cinnamon rolls at my disposal anywhere else in the house. only safely tucked away under my bed do cinnamon rolls reside. also, i am in complete solitude. no one else wants to catch this black death i have somehow contracted, so they are all steering clear of me. eventually, though, they will realize they miss me too much, and they will all come and visit me in droves, as i feign sleep.
i just remembered why i prefer typing to writing with a pencil. at my home, we never can seem to keep a pencil sharpener around, so we have mostly perfected the art of peeling the wood off the pencil with our thumb-nail. sadly, however, in my feverish state, i slightly misjudged the tenacity of the pencil, and its intense desire to keep its lead safely hidden away from the world. i am now the proud owner of a shattered thumb nail, and a carpet littered with shards of wood, most of which i will find first thing tomorrow morning when i get out of bed.
today, i was blessed with the unforgettable experience of getting a family portrait taken. under normal circumstances, i would have protested mightily, raised my voice a little, maybe even shed a tear or two, but today was not a normal day. dragging myself out of bed long enough only to feed animals which i later found out i was supposed to feed last night, i wearily gathered enough courage to face the hideous monstrosity of the portrait studio. zombie-like, i stared dully ahead, wallowing in sorrow and self-pity as we drew nearer to the accursed place of squeaky toys, white sheets and strange men with wide smiles who repeatedly say, "cheese".
finally, the moment had arrived. i stumbled out of our vehicle, groggily blinking against the sun. in front of me were siblings, pinching and shoving. behind me were siblings, pinching and shoving. bewildered, i looked around for some adults, but none were in sight. scowling, i croaked at them to be nice and stop fighting with each other. they took no notice. after a few more feeble attempts, i gave up and let them pinch each other to death.
we entered the building, and from the start, i knew it would be bad. i could feel a fever coming on, and now though the siblings were not pinching each other, they had all flocked onto me. i stopped them all with a glare from my glassy, feverish eyes, though. startled at my vehemence and now very apparent illness, a rapid retreat was in order. breathing a sigh of relief, i then steeled myself for the onslaught of poses and pictures.
we were somberly led into a small room, almost as if we were about to be executed. as we stood apprehensively against the wall, a small man of nervous character came in and began studying us thoughtfully. he paced around for a while, furtively glancing at us now and then as he fidgeted with the giant white sheet that hung on the opposite end of the room. jerkily, he beckoned a few of us to kneel, a few others to sit, and some others to simply plaster grins on their faces. some ignored this last command; others took it to the extreme, displaying every tooth in their mouth with great exuberance in a most strange manner. i, personally, opted for the middle ground, attempting a smile that appeared calm and serene, yet inwardly joyful. i think i failed.
finally, the ordeal was over, and i was able to go back home, and crawl back into bed. and for that, i will be eternally grateful.
remember, my faithful readers, Anberlin is a spiffy band that should be listened to at least three times a day.

~M.R.P.