I will be well

This afternoon I was looking for something on my desk when I uncovered a sticky note with CANADA written across the top, a Florida area code phone number, and the words "fried food" scrawled over and over again.

If that's not a cry for help, I don't know what is.

Yesterday was not a good day. As the day went on, I developed a sore throat and fever and by the time I left work, I was tired and stressed and sad and several other whiny adjectives. On the way home, I was trying not to feel sorry for myself, but instead trying to think of all the people out there who were suffering far worse than I was. But still there was that tiny, selfish part of me that was like "God, it would be really nice if there was something to cheer me up when I got home. Just like a good piece of mail or something". I tried to tell myself that it was better not to have that worldly comfort and to just suck it up and remember to be grateful for all I have.

Well. I pulled into my apartment complex, turned on to my street, and there I beheld half a dozen good-looking guys my age playing football right in front of my building. I have never seen these guys before. I have no idea who they are where they came from. I can't make this stuff up- seriously, I lack the imagination. And people say God doesn't answer prayers.

Anyway, I felt AWFUL last night. I felt so awful I couldn't even watch The Office. That's right, I could not muster the energy necessary to roll off my bed, crawl twenty feet into the living room, and collapse onto the couch. Instead I caught up on episodes of Greek online. Clearly another cry for help.

However, I've decided that I'm not going to be sick. I'm just not going to do it. No way am I giving those people at Urgent Care the satisfaction of showing up for the third week in a row. So I dragged myself out of bed this morning and took a shower sitting down. On my way to work, I had to get off the expressway and pull into the nearest parking lot where I threw up outside of my car.

I would like to take this opportunity to sincerely apologize to the people of the Roper Mountain Business Center, and hope that none of you were unfortunate enough to step in my regurgitated orange juice. Please know that it was not a comment on your establishment but simply an act of desperation.

So I will soldier on. I will continue to consume tylenol like a bag of skittles and I will nap and rest and enjoy my Halloween for all it's worth. And I'd like to apologize ahead of time to any parking lots who may take the brunt of my stubbornness in the upcoming days. I am so sorry.

I'M NOT THE ONLY ONE

For Alycia's birthday, I gave her a copy of Jillian Michaels' 30 Day Shred. NOT because she needs it- seriously, girlfriend already looked better than I ever have about nine seconds after giving birth. I know, because I was there. Rather, she had complained to me several times about wanting to find a good workout DVD and I told her about my love-hate relationship with Jillian. She mentioned borrowing it but I knew that if I loaned it to her I would never in a million years ask for it back ("No no! You keep it! No really!") so I just bought her one instead. I know, my dedication to physical exercise is inspiring.

So today I received an email from Alycia with the subject line 'f'. It read:

"i just finished the first workout on that DVD. F***. I think I'm going to puke."

(Clearly, being a mother has cleaned up her act, because a year ago, there would not have been asterisks in that sentence.)

I just appreciate the affirmation that it is not all in my head. Jillian, you are the devil and everyone knows it.

I've been running more than shredding lately (though I've managed to steer clear of participating in any high school sports), as the weather has been generally agreeable. Also, when I'm busy, it's easier to go running right after work than try to work in a shred at 11pm. Let's pause for a moment and think of the hundreds of millions of things I'd rather do than shred after a 14-hour day, including ripping all of my own fingernails out and titrating a solution. Oh my gosh I hated high school chemistry class.

Anyway I'm headed for a well-balanced weekend. Confirmation retreat tonight, a celebration of Fall tomorrow, and then the zoo on Sunday.

Misadventures of an Overheated Drug Addict

Ugh. Today is just one of those days that is not destined for greatness. I knew this to be the case when I woke up half an hour before my alarm went off, sweating profusely and unable to fall back asleep. It's just started to get cold down here and we haven't quite figured out the heating system in our apartment yet. It's consistently freezing in the living room, but I think that's because all the heat is being channeled into my room, where it waits and gathers power in the vent before blasting me at 3 in the morning.

Speaking of apartment quirks, our internet has been flaky at best the past few days. After spending the weekend writing verbal hatemail to Charter ("Dear Charter, you are not nice. We do not like you and sometimes wish you would die." Hey I never said we were wordsmiths...) my roommate and I discovered that the problem lay with an Ethernet cord gone bad. And by 'discovered', I mean I placed a technical support phone call to my brother, who immediately diagnosed the problem. Oops. Excuse me while I contact the fine people at Charter to cancel the service appointment I demanded yesterday.

I've been to the doctor twice in the past six days, which has me thinking it really might be time to get my own physician in Greenville. I think the people at Urgent Care are starting to get suspicious, like I'm just a lonely person who has nowhere else to go on Monday nights. Which is only half of the truth. The other half is the swelling of my right ear to several times its normal size, which caused the latest visit. The doctor was like "Oh, yup, that's an abscess. Let's get that outta there". Ew. He numbed my ear then basically cut into it like a thanksgiving turkey. And of course, just because you are numb during a procedure doesn't mean you aren't going to feel it later... and when I saw the amount of blood coming out of my ears, I knew it was going to hurt once that shot wore off.

It took me back to my first ear piercing, when the teenage girl at Claire's got the gun stuck in my ear and started screaming. I couldn't feel anything but I knew the look of horror on her face was probably not a good sign, a suspicion confirmed when I saw the rivers of blood pouring from my ear. I don't think they had equipped her for that kind of medical emergency in high school health class. And that was only the first in a series of dramatic events which ultimately led to getting my ears pierced by our family physician.

And here's something I'll bet you've never thought about one way or another- you can't really rip a band-aid off your ear. It's pretty much guaranteed to be slow and painful no matter what you do.

Anyway. What was I saying? Oh yes. In case I didn't feel like enough of a drug addict going to the same Rite Aid pharmacy twice in one week, when I handed in my prescription today, the pharmacist pointed out that the doctor had signed the prescription but forgotten to put my name on it. That's right. I gave a signed, nameless drug order to my friendly neighborhood pharmacist. Sigh.

There have been a few bright spots lately: I went apple picking this weekend and came home with approximately 10,000 pounds of apples. The first batch of applesauce has already been cooked and eaten, and hardly a dent has been made in the stash. We drove up into the mountains, which I always love, and after the orchard, we ate dinner at Haus Heidelberg in Hendersonville, which is AUTHENTIC. GERMAN. FOOD. I tell you what. Like every-item-on-the-menu-included-some-kind-of-schnitzel authentic. The highlights for me were definitely the spatzle and my beer, which happily was called The Optimator. It was so rich and heavy, I couldn't even finish this beast, though goodness know I tried. At $4.50 for a 17oz glass, you can bet your boots I'll be back soon.

Well, I'm off to Rite Aid, for potentially the last time ever. I don't think I'll be comfortable showing my face there again after recent events...

Consequences

One of my pet peeves is when you tell someone you're sick and they respond by saying "well don't get me sick. I just can NOT afford to get sick right now."

*blink*

First of all, thank you for your compassion. How about an "I'm so sorry! What is it, the flu?" or "You poor thing! Can I get you anything?" Even a "that sucks, dude" would be nice. But can we agree that it's just a wee bit selfish if your first spoken thought is about how another person's misery might affect you? I'm just saying.

Secondly, thank GOODNESS it was me that got sick and not you, because you just couldn't make the time for an illness. But me, I've been spending my days at work practicing the 180-degree Dr.-Evil-stroking-a-cat turn in my desk chair, so I've got time to spare. Bring on the virus.

Seriously, who can afford to check out of life for days on end? I've been sick for three days and I've had to cancel five commitments and stay home from work a day. It's not like I needed puking and sneezing to fill in the gaps in my day. However, during my vacation from reality, I have watched The Proposal, Ghost of Girlfriends Past, and caught up on all the TV I missed while I was in Hillsdale, which, ironically, is what got me sick in the first place. So I suppose not all is lost.

(Incidentally, my other big pet peeve is when people refer to their parents as 'mom' and 'dad' instead of 'my mom' and 'my dad'. Unless Bill and Cindy have been keeping something from me, they're your mom and your dad and it shouldn't be that difficult for you to make the distinction. But that's neither here nor there.)

So yes, I've been sick, but at least it isn't making me cranky. Clearly. And Hillsdale was well worth feeling like I've been hit by a freight train repeatedly. But the best part of all was that I was lying in the backseat of a car traveling somewhere in Southern Indiana when my roommates found a mouse in our pantry. That's what I call providential timing.