Today I finished reading the second of the three books that I downloaded onto my Kindle. It was My Sister's Keeper by Jodi Picoult. I love her writing style, and I found myself frequently bookmarking passages, which my Kindle will save for me. Maybe later I'll take all those bookmarked passages and create a poem. Or not.
The book was fine until the end. But the end really, really, really, really, really, really sucked. How do people write this stuff? I'm well aware that life is not all about happy endings and that sometimes things happen that you just can't explain, and well, that's just what life IS. But this crappy ending was so CONTRIVED. So CALCULATED. So JUST NOT RIGHT. I would have gotten all the messages the book was trying to send WITHOUT the crappy ending. Even if I were not a literature teacher, I would have gotten them. She did NOT have to whack me over the head with them.
Apropos of absolutely nothing, I started on the third book of my downloaded three, and I was immediately struck by one of those oddities that fascinate me because they cannot be explained. And the fact that they fascinate me also cannot be explained.
Both the second and third books mentioned a character in passing, not a character at all really, just someone mentioned as a side note, who shares my name. That wouldn't be strange at all if I had a name like Mary or Louise or even Isabel, but my name is uncommon. And even when I do run across someone with my name, it is even rarer that it is spelled like mine, although my spelling is the only one that makes any sense because it has no wasted letters. But both of these characters not only had the same name, they spelled it right.
These two books were written by wildly different authors. What are the odds?
On a completely different note, I have spent most of the day reading because Hubby is horribly sick. And he just isn't the sickly type. He once had a terrible case of the flu, and all he asked was that I drive him to do his Pepsi route on Sunday. Not work it for him, mind you, just drive. Another time he had an abscessed tooth blow up, and his face was purple and his eye was swollen shut. He only allowed me to make an emergency call to his dentist AFTER he got home from work. He just doesn't get sick. He receives a lump payment every year for all of the sick days he has NOT used that year. Except for the year he fell off the ladder I was supposed to be holding, but that is a different story for another day.
It frightens me that he is sick in a foreign country. If we were in, say, France or Italy, I wouldn't mind taking him to the doctor. Not necessarily England, since that's one of those places they ask you if you've visited when you try to donate blood, like they may escort you out immediately if you say yes.
But here I would only take him to the doctor if he were losing copious amounts of blood. Or maybe if it were the first day of our vacation instead of our last. He is feverish and nauseated, but not throwing up. He says it would be better if he COULD throw up. Sorry if that's TMI. He hasn't drunk the water, and last night at dinner was one of the rare occasions when we had the exact same meal. So I don't think it's necessarily anything he ate, either. We shared nachos at lunch. I'm not feeling any ill effects, so I can't imagine what's ailing him. But he's just not a complainer, and he's also not one to spend thousands of dollars on a trip and then spend all day in bed.
Today at our all-inclusive resort, he has consumed one diet soft drink and one apple. God love him.
I went and bought him some Alka-Seltzer and some decongestant for the plane ride home, because landing causes him severe head pain right between the eyes. It has happened once before when we went to Las Vegas, and it happened as we approached Punta Cana, so I'm hoping the decongestant will hep with tomorrow's flight.
I was a little disturbed when I went to the gift shop that I could not only buy single packets of Alka-Seltzer, I could also buy packets of amoxicillin and ampicillin if I were so inclined. I were not, but still.
I didn't venture out much today either, because I would have felt supremely guilty for having a good time when Hubby was curled up in the fetal position. I grabbed a sandwich when I went to get the Alka-Seltzer and brought it back to the room, but I felt guilty eating it in front of him. Finally at about 5:00 this evening I took one last walk on the beach. It occurred to me that people who walk alone on the beach appear either to be traveling alone or like they have just had a huge fight with their significant others.
There may be nothing sadder in all the world than a single set of footprints in the sand.
It's been fun and hugely relaxing, but I'm ready to go home. That's the second best part of taking a vacation, after all.