White Lines

Poor Punksin is sick, as you know.  The word “sick” is kind of fluid here, since it seems that in this case it just consists of coughing and a whole lot of fucking sniffing.  And it’s the sniffing that is driving me absolute batshit.

You have to understand, people.  We are not talking an occasional sniff.  And we are not talking a runny nose either.  What I am trying to describe to you here is that with EVERY INTAKE OF BREATH, my daughter creates a SNIFFLE.  If you still do not understand what I am telling you, here, you do it.  Go ahead, pretend you have a cold, and do that thing that we do when our noses are bugging us because they’re either running or stopped up to hell.  Yes, that big SNIFFLE thing.  Now, if you have mastered that part, do it again.  And again. And again. And again.  And keep doing it with every fucking breath you take in, every single one, don’t miss one because if you do, you are not doing what my daughter is doing.  And after you’ve done that a couple thousand times, you’ll probably be dizzy from all the oxygen and the sheer friggin’ effort but if you can possibly imagine what it is like, not to be the creator of that noise, but the sleep-deprived mother of the person making the noise, who has to hear this incessant sniffling that makes me want to shove a vacuum up her nose just to get whatever the hell is up there, out, then you can maybe have some inkling of what I am feeling right now.

Do not for one minute, though, think that I am not sympathetic to my daughter’s plight.  I feel her pain, I really do.  (Such as it is, because I have to tell you, except for the coughing and sniffling she seems FINE.)  She JUST learned how to blow her nose, poor thing, and she really tries to.  And it is actually very cute watching her do it because although she had the breakthrough moment where she understood that blowing her nose meant pushing stuff out instead of inhaling it all in (oh yes, we went through that for a while), she still doesn’t quite get that sometimes, you need to give that snot a real good push out the door.  So she does it all daintily, and then proceeds to hand me a tissue which she holds as if it has Bubonic Plague Boogers, but which usually has…

nothing.

Which then means that she is reduced to sniffing.

And sniffing.

And sniffing.

And sniffing.

I finally had to put my headphones on so I wouldn’t hear it.  But then I realized that if I couldn’t hear her, then I couldn’t – well, hear her.  So I turned the music down a tad.  Which sort of puts me back at square one.  Now I’m listening to Simon & Garfunkel.

And sniffing.

Maybe I’ll just pretend we’re all doing coke.*

*****

* – The coke reference (like a lot of other shit I say on this blog) should really be taken with a big fat pound of salt.  It should be noted – and I’m proud to say it – that I’ve never done coke in my life. Coke with a capital C, yes, I drink that fairly regularly.  Coke as in cocaine, never have, never will.  And if my daughter were indeed sniffing coke, I sure as hell wouldn’t be any happier about her sniffing noises.  So maybe I’ll count my blessings and be thankful that she’s just sniffing boogers – and pray that it stays that way.

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