But just barely.
It's not like me to whine and complain; at least not on the blog. But damn it, it's not been the best trip I've ever taken. I started out with an industrial strength headache just before we left, followed by....ta da...a UTI. And if you read this post from a few weeks back, you'll know that I struggle with these; have since I was nineteen and they aren't going away.
So here I am in New York and I need to put in a call to my doctor (whom I've not yet replaced), whose office never called me back. I called twice, in fact, and was told that The Doctor was busy with patients and had not yet found time to "review" my situation.
I then call the answering service and leave a message for the on-call doctor who promptly got back to me and was very helpful; calling in the prescription immediately to the Rite Aid around the corner on West 50th Street. Problem solved. Well, sort of. The headache came back and I'm now taking a load of Exedrin so we can take the subway to Brooklyn for my first visit to The Brooklyn Art Museum. I'd be more excited about that but every time I express enthusiasm, my head pounds ferociously. Ugh.
To top it all off, WP isn't in the best of moods either. He's perhaps fed up with my complaining which I do profusely under these circumstances. I mean, every chance I get, I'm mumbling under my breath "my freakin' head hurts". It's really selfish of me and not fair because he's done all he can to help me with this; including running to the pharmacy to get my pills.
We went to MoMA yesterday; mostly for WP's benefit, since I was there last summer but that was a business trip for him so he missed out on it. He loved it, so that was a bright spot. I also saw and photographed some things I'd either missed last time or they weren't there last time.
Being very emotional this time of the month, I cried when I looked at the two Frida Khalo paintings the MoMA has. The look of pain on her face was just too much for me to bear. One of those paintings was featured in the movie Frida with the stunning Selma Hayek as Frida. It's the self-portrait where Frida is sitting in a chair, wearing a man's suit, with her hair all chopped off. Cutting my hair very short has long been something that I've wanted to do. By short I mean...shaved...like a monk; like Sinead O'Connor; like Grace Jones. I don't want to scare The Adorables (my students) so I think I'll have to wait until I retire. But it's in my future.
Now that I've ranted on about illnesses and shaving my head...I'll leave you scratching yours. I'm revealing random things about myself that perhaps don't make much sense unless you are inside my head. But in some ways, you are. Because honestly, I tell you all more than I tell anyone except perhaps my daughters, who know me better than anyone. I'd be lost without them and it's becoming clear, lost without you, too.
Time to go. I'm looking forward to feeling better tonight for Indian food. Wish I hadn't forgotten the cord that connects the camera to the computer so that I could show you pictures. That will have to wait until I retern home on Saturday.
Stay strong and alert and safe and good. And because I feel naked unless I post a picture. Here is the one that made me cry. From 1940.
lines and colors :: a blog about drawing, painting, illustration, comics, concept art and other visual arts
George Vicat Cole
17 hours ago