Blank verse and illness.

My blog page is empty because I haven't yet posted this month.  In an effort to alter that situation, a brief update:

Both children are home sick today with the plague.  The last day all four of us were healthy was January 14.  There's no point in complaining about this, so I'm simply recording the fact.

The polliwog has been to the doctor twice in three weeks and is still on eyedrops for pinkeye.  The bug had the flu (fever, chills, vomiting) which has now evolved into a cold (runny nose, cough).  Matt and I have taken turns with colds and flu ourselves.  We haven't left the house as a family unit in over a month.

One of my shows closed on Saturday, so now I have nights at home for awhile which is a serious blessing with all this illness.  My first opera on the job opens next week.  The rehearsal schedule for the next one is already falling apart, and I can't even get parking spaces for the first one yet.

So I was looking for a bright spot in the day yesterday--something like Day 42 on illness watch--and a book I've been waiting to read for months finally came up on reserve at the Boulder library.  (It's "Eclipse," yes, the third in the teen vampire series.  I know, guilty pleasure reading. And don't tell me why you hate the author yet, please, let me get through the last two books first.)  I drove all the way in from Longmont last night to pick it up, only to find that someone had STOLEN MY BOOK OFF THE HOLD SHELF.  Seriously.

I began composing an ode to the person who did this, beginning along the lines of 

Soulless whore.

Why didn't you go to a big box bookstore

And steal one from

their mile-long displays?

Stealing from libraries

is stealing from the public, the poor,

and the patient.

I hope you never reach volume four.

The moaning sick await my attentions, though, so that's as far as I can get at this point.  Soon it will be spring and we'll no longer live in a house of infirmity. I hope.