I'm losing my voice. I open up the package of Luden's lozenges I packed and wonder if I have, in fact, hexed myself by buying all of the pharmaceuticals instead of having protected myself as I'd intended. Thank goodness I didn't buy wart cream or foot fungus spray. I suck on faux cherry candies and try not to panic. I look over my calendar, note the six appearances I am supposed to make and wonder how upset the Festival would be if I couldn't do it. I go over my notes, make more notes for the panels. I really don't feel good. Then my mom and I go into the sewing room. I half-heartedly start to sew scraps into crazy quilt squares while she makes insanely detailed pieced work panels. I like the crazy quilt. It takes no thought. Only sewing seam after seam and ironing them flat. It's repetitive, like swimming laps, but easier. It is meditation. By late afternoon, I am feeling a little optimistic. I think I'm feeling better. Knock on wood.
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