A bunch of old friends are in town. They were all in a band called Bambu once upon a time, and I haven’t seen some of them in many years.
Bambu played a little reunion gig on the square in Fairfield tonight. Barbara (Ilana) and Derby (Stephen) came in from NYC to do this gig.
I didn’t know about it until two minutes ago. Undoubtedly everyone from my era was there, and they all had a great time… and I missed it. I thought it was next weekend. (Of course I was asleep until quarter to ten this evening, but maybe I wouldn’t have been had I known Bambu was tonight.)
I didn’t see a single ad, and nobody called me.
Mood: crushing disappointment.
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Since my phone hasn’t been holding a charge for more than three hours at a time, and Brett’s has been rather sketchy in the functioning department for lo these many moons now, we stopped by the kiosk at Walmart in Ottumwa today and got new phones.
It took well over an hour.
You can get Lasik surgery in less time than it takes to re-up your freaking wireless contract, fer chrissakes. Why can’t they scan the box, scan your driver’s license, activate the damn phones and take your money? Why is it that as soon as you select a phone and a plan, the clerk glazes over in a hell of never-ending paperwork? It’s not rocket science, it’s selling phones.
We got LG VX6100 phones, the US Cellular version with no sliding lens cover, and we’re pretty happy with them. They’re cute as hell. They have speaker phone capability, Internet access, and built-in digital cameras. (Brett keeps trying to get me to let him take a picture of my boobs, but I ain’t going for it. No way, no how.)
They didn’t have the proper cable to transfer my phone book from my old phone to my new one, so I’ll have to transfer them all by hand. They could have transferred Brett’s numbers, but he didn’t have his old phone with him so he opted to move his himself rather than drive back to Ottumwa. I had no sympathy for him whatsoever when he whined, “Isn’t there an easier way to do this?”
Brett took a chainsaw to the tree that crushed his old Ford. Now he wants to know if I’ll run the chipper, if he goes to 1-Stop to rent one. Run the chipper? I HAVE STREP THROAT, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD. I’m going to take a nap. He’ll probably have forgotten he even wanted to do it by the time I wake up.
Amma is coming to Mt. Pleasant next week, so people in the satsang have left messages that they need me to do things – edit this web site or that one, fix data in the seva database, be places…. I’d better get my nap in and get my ass to town this evening. Hopefully this chipping scenario will just go away on its own. I’m still tired. From the strep. Yeah, from the strep.
—–
I came home from work last night and decided to lie down for just a bit…
…and I didn’t wake up until three in the morning. I have no idea if my husband even ate dinner. I also ended up missing two doses of antibiotics, so my throat was actually sore when I woke up at three in the morning.
I took a pill, drank a bunch of water, took out my contacts (ugh), and went back to bed. I was so tired.
Today so far I have awoken, turned the computer on, wandered around the house, and posted over at I.C.K. about my recent return to knitting. Now I’m thinking of tackling some laundry-type behavior. Alternately, I might sit on the couch and knit in front of TiVOed episodes of Sex & The City. Or possibly Six Feet Under. (Or The Rockford Files. Or Poirot. Or whatever the hell there is to watch.) It’s a toss up, to be honest.
I have recently discovered a desire to run words together. I can’t figure out if it’s all one word or not:
- toss up
- what so ever
- over all
- any more
The whole thing is driving me nuts. I used to have excellent instincts for these things, but much of my ‘instinct’ depends on seeing things printed properly in my environment. This doesn’t happen any more; I find typos in books I buy all the time, and don’t even get me started on signage and print ads – the whole country graduated with a sixth grade reading level. It’s terrifying. I don’t want to be stupid!
I’ve migrated my good ol’ blog to WordPress.
Why?
Why not. Seemed like something to do.
Actually, that’s a lie. I did it because WP has more and cooler style templates, and because – unlike MT – it’s free. I’ll probably migrate the whole site to WP since it was so blessedly easy.
Off to play with it to see what it does…
Oh, the original blog still exists here if you should want to view it.
Apparently search strings with the word “gay” in them now get you to goblinbox. Whew, that’s a relief. I felt bad that so many people were coming here looking for porn and finding none, and now I get to feel bad because you’re coming here for GAY porn and finding none!
The number of people looking up “heart virus” freaks me out. My mom had it, and a friend had it. Apparently it’s becoming a problem – a virus infesting the liquid around the heart is so not sexy. …the person searching for “peasex” was probably looking for “pee sex.” To each their own, I guess… and the guy doing things to his mom will probably rot in hell. (Note that hit came from Google France.)
I’m at work.
Last night a tree crushed one of Brett’s many trucks. I’m a bad wife, I suggested he’d be less traumatized if I were hit by a tree. (I’d be more sympathetic if he didn’t have so many trucks.) The storm was awesome. I barely slept at all.
I can swallow without pain. When I open my pill bottle, it smells like eggs. I am not sure how I feel about this.
I am now certain that men cannot taste their food. Two specific images will serve to convince you of this as well:
1. Last night I made Brett a steak in a dry pan, and I did not season the meat at all. He said dinner was fantastic. (I normally season his steaks carefully, sear them in cast iron, sautee them with onions or mushrooms, and deglaze the pan with beer or wine or cognac and butter.)
2. Once I made gratin dauphinois for Joe. He put sri racha on it before tasting it. I have never forgiven him for this.
Early in the morning on June 30th, a big storm with gale force winds blew through Batavia, knocking down half a tree in the process and smashing up one of Brett’s trucks.
Mr. Brett is somewhat devastated.
Behold the carnage in my Smashed Truck Gallery called 1950 Ford 0, Tree 1.
All face cephalexin, from whom all blessings flow.
I woke up Tuesday morning, some seven hours after my last post, feeling if not well than at least less sick.
Today, at 1:32 PM, I swallowed for the first time in days without pain. *snoopy dance* I am so on the way to being better!
Today I even went to town, where I bought some Fun Fur for a shrug I’m knitting and picked up some counter checks because, ha ha, I ran out of checks and needed one to pay my phone bill so I could get back online to tell y’all that strep hasn’t actually managed to kill me!
I’m also knitting my second sock, finally. (I knit my first sock over a year ago. They’re hideous, but hell, they’re socks. Who cares if they’re fugly.) Knitting and sickness go together like… like… gin and tonic!
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[Darling one, this post is not about suicide, but about a really bad bout of strep throat. If you found this page because you’re feeling suicidal, please, please, PLEASE call 1-800-SUICIDE now. They understand; you don’t have to be alone.]
I am in so much pain I very nearly can’t stand it.
I’m not exactly a wimp. I mean, I can tolerate me some hurt, people. It’s the UNRELENTING GODDAMNED CONSTANT PAIN that gets to a girl. Every time I swallow, it’s like the whole Universe has entirely dissolved and reformed itself, that’s how much it hurts. It hurts even when I’m not swallowing, which I happen to think is just in bad form all around.
It’s two in the morning! I woke myself up by swallowing – all those spectacular circling stars of horrific pain caught my attention and dragged me up from sleep by my leprous throat. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts. You would have to see the hugeness of my lymph nodes to believe them.
Neither Advil nor gargling with salt water helps.
I’ve only taken a day’s worth of antibiotics, but I have enjoyed no reduction of my symptoms what so ever. I think I’m gonna need me some horse tranquilizer-style antibiotics, because some superfuck somewhere got strep* and couldn’t be bothered to take the entire course of antibiotics prescribed, and therefore unleashed into MY WORLD a strain that’s fucking immune to cephalexin, which used to kill strep!
Fuck you, whoever you are, and I hope your tonsils have fallen out. OUT, I say. OUT!!!
*You should thank your lucky stars that I’m not even going to mention the meat industry. Antibiotics have always worked for me when I needed them, and now they don’t, and I’m in pain, and you’d better believe me when I say that I. AM. PISSED.
Doctors are ashamed of how much they charge for things.
You learn this when you’re uninsured. They say, “No insurance, right?” and you nod. And then they proceed to skip tests and prescribe the cheapest pills in their arsenals.
This is, I think, because they know they overcharge insurance companies for things like strep swabs.
In a nutshell, I was not tested for strep, but it was assumed I have strep because, and I quote, I’m “too old for mono.”
I’m to take this bottom-shelf antibiotic (only thirteen dollars!) and call in if I don’t feel better by Wednesday, because the good doctor told me he saw a guy recently whose throat looked as bad as mine and his bacteria didn’t respond to the bottom-shelf antibiotic and had to be killed with some expensive, bovine-strength antibiotic.
Lord, I’m so fucking happy. Not. (At least my sweet GP is reluctant to prescribe the bovine-strength antibiotic. A point in his favor.)
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4 random books from my Library!
