I’m in a funk.

A friend got some bad news that I can’t discuss here (but if you send me $5, I’ll spill all in a super-secret email) and it’s making me heartsick, I’m dreading my return from our wonderful 2 week vacation, I’m not ready for school to start, I can’t deal with the deadlines that I have coming up and I’m worried that I have eighteenth stage melanoma, starring Laura Linney.

poster in NYC subway station

Which would really be ironic, since that’s probably one illness that I never considered in my rainbow of hypochondria. But then right before we went on vacation, I watched an episode of The Big C, which for some reason I thought was called The C Word and it hit me. Of course! I have all the danger signs for skin cancer.

First, I have perfect alabaster skin. Risk factor one. Second, I have ocean blue eyes. Risk factor two. And then I have kisses from the gods, aka freckles. Risk factor three.

And then, first night on vacation I realized that I had an itchy spot on my back. Do I need to draw a picture here?

A few days later my daughter woke up with a sore neck, and when I took her to the medical center, I saw a sign about skin cancer and various symptoms. Of course I was too panic-stricken to read it, and the doctor was acting like we were there to discuss my daughter’s neck, but why would there be a sign about skin cancer in the doctor’s office if they didn’t have something to tell me?

So now I have that hanging over my head.

And of course, this whole post has a shit load of Tfu, tfu, tfu all over it. If you don’t know what I’m talking about it, just fake it. I’m depressed enough already.

We took the ferry to Block Island to start our summer vacation yesterday and already I have tons of blog fodder to share with you.

But first things first.  See, I will be changing the name of my blog to reflect that I am now a Block Island resident and will never leave, and I can’t figure out if it should be “Motherhood on the Block” or “Motherhood in the Block”.  On seems right, but it’s Motherhood in NYC.  No matter how great the ESL classes were, I’m still not a native English speaker, so these things are confusing to me.  What do you think?  On or in?

What?  Yes, the reason that I’m never leaving Block Island is that the ferry crossing was so horrific and vomit-enriched that I swore never to get on another ferry ever again.  I’m hoping that Block Island wises up a bit and gets itself landlocked, but I’m nothing if not a realist and that’s why I’ve resigned to spending the rest of my life here.

There are some problems, of course.  Like the fact that we only have our house rented for a week, for an amount that involved mortgaging some of my organs.  But I’ve been reading The Secret online, so I’m sure that the universe is busy building a new house for me as I type.

There are a few more minor points–the kids are supposed to start school in a few weeks, but Young Ladrinka, fellow vomitorium visitor, is already on my side.  Yes, he is willing to sacrifice school in order to support his mother.  I think I can congratulate myself on a job well done.

Husbandrinka thinks that I’m overreacting.  It’s a good thing that we’re not living in Victorian England or something because he’d have me labeled hysterical in no time, and probably have my uterus extracted for good measure.

“Fortunately” Husbandrinka doesn’t get seasick, but “unfortunately” he really dislikes vomit.  Now, you may be thinking that vomit lovers are few and far between, but let me reassure you, he dislikes vomit more than most normal people.  I learned this ten years ago when our daughter had her first stomach virus and I had to spend the night with her, soothing and wiping and cleaning and he had to spend the night sealed in our bedroom, catching up a season’s worth of The Sopranos.  He told me the next morning that the show was really good, but that he’d stayed up way too late watching it, which certainly reassured me because I stayed up way too late dealing with a puking child and knowing that at least one of us had a nice evening was just the salve that I needed, although knowing that he was a bit yawny from watching one too many episodes certainly tempered my happiness.

But during yesterday’s ferry ride, Poseidon avenged me.  Because I got seasick pretty much instantly (although at first I didn’t think anything of it, as I had just started reading Dr. Phil’s Give Yourself a Mental Makeover in O Magazine, and I assumed that nausea was a normal reaction to all things Dr. Phil.  But it wasn’t.)

After I excused myself (by running and screaming WE’RE ALL GOING TO DIE!) to the ladies’ room, apparently Young Ladrinka got seasick as well, and Husbandrinka had to accompany him to the, shall we say, men’s lounge.

According to Husbandrinka, the men’s lounge was already at near capacity, there was a man in his 60s, who stayed there the entire time (hi! I’m worried that I’m using the word “vomit” too often in this post, so from now on “stay” is going to be code for it!  Wait, don’t leave! The post is almost over! Stay and enjoy it! oh.)  In addition to the older man, there was also a man in his 40s and a teenager.  The teenager didn’t have a stall, so he er.. stayed in the garbage can and that’s when Husbandrinka started to feel unwell himself.  (By the way, I have no idea why Husbandrinka noted and told me the age of all the men that were there.  I can only assume that he’s an undercover Census taker.)

Once I got on terra firma, I vowed never to ferry again.  Which is why we’re sta-, I mean, remaining on Block Island forever.  And which brings me back to my original question- Motherhood on the Block or Motherhood in the Block?

Having a great time, wish you were here!