Stephen and I do not feel well. Friday I took the day off work for a high fever, and yesterday I started sneezing and coughing. I went to bed at 7:30. This morning I feel like my head is three times its normal size and I was too weak to knock Sprocket off the headboard this morning when he woke me up by trying to climb the horizontal blinds. I have taken over the living room couch, and it was going pretty well until Steve jumped up here with me with runny eyes and a big warm puppy nose. We are leaning against each other like shipwreck victims on a tiny inflatable raft. Louise is up here too, purring and throwing herself against Steve. I think maybe that's why he's so clingy---he's not sure what to do with the sudden feline affection. Together we three are pathetic.

I know I just have the same stupid virus everyone else has. The air has been unusually dry around here and illness has been breeding like a vile little pair of bunny rabbits. The girl I sit next to at work has it, Lovell and his lady have it, I'm pretty sure I've given it to Bryan and Mike. For some reason the worst type of infection is always the virus, which is a real bitch 'cause you can't really treat it, you can only hope to boost yourself up enough to get rid of it faster.

You know what's really pissing me off about this though? My steroid immunosuppressants were cut in half two weeks ago. HALF! Meaning I'm supposed to get sick far less and my face is supposed to thin down a little and my teeth won't be so soft. I suppose after being on the dose I was for over a year it's going to take more than two weeks to ease them out of my body, but still. I'm damn disappointed. Maybe I'll get over it more quickly, though. I can only hope.

Until that happens I will be a big fucking baby. I plan on fighting my way to the store in a little bit and stocking up on Zicam swabs (although it's probably too late for that), V8 juice and saline nasal spray.

(Edit: I just checked my symptoms on Web MD's cold or flu checker, and it appears I have the flu, not just a cold. Glorious! Too bad--I thought these muscular aches just meant I was on my way to getting rock hard abs.)

Tonight Bryan and I were listening to the Beatles' Abbe Road album and having a mini-dance party when I decided I wanted some tea. I went into the kitchen and turned on the burner under the kettle and ran back into the living room to polka with Steve. A few seconds later I noticed that the room was filling up with smoke and it smelled TERRIBLE. I realized I'd turned the wrong burner on, and I was heating the mostly empty pan we'd just cooked the salmon in, and the remnants of salmon and rice had turned black and were actively burning.

I turned off the stove, lit the correct burner, turned on the fan and ran to the window to open it a crack. Unfortunately, we had a candelabra fixture thingey on the window sill. It was a housewarming gift that was technically left over from Laura and Andy's wedding, which is the only conceivable reason we'd have a candelabra in this house since we have so many cats. (Usually we burn incense--which also fills the house with smoke, but it's much BETTER smelling smoke.)

When I pushed the window up, it knocked the candelabra off the sill and six glass encased votive candles fell to the ground. One shattered, sending glass everywhere. I was just about to slip my feet into a pair of shoes I keep on the side landing when Bryan thundered into the kitchen behind me screaming "don't move!" He hoisted me up by the waist and physically removed me from the danger zone. I pointed out to him that 1)he was wearing socks and 2)is diabetic and is therefore no more safe in broken glass than I am, but I think he's so used to bodily removing me from the scenes of my own destruction that it's sort of a Pavlovian reflex by now.

OK, so maybe the reason we don't own candelabra thingeys has less to do with the cats and more to do with me. I am going to blame my mother, since I seem to have inherited this from her.

I am so tired this morning.
Last night at 10 I felt like I'd hit a brick wall, so I went directly to bed, and now my legs still hurt, my head is fuzzy and I am exhausted.

If I am coming down with anything, I know I will get better shortly because we are halving the amount of my steroid immunosuppressant, starting today. Unfortunately, one of the side effects of a steroid taper is fatigue and nausea...last time I also experienced cramping in my joints. So...I will not feel sick due to sickness, I will feel sick due to temporary cortisol deficiency. Which will be worse? Hmm.

I'm pretty sure my legs hurt from my belly dancing yesterday---I realized during the stretching portion of the video that it was not going to go well for me. Even though I stretch and work out regularly, belly dancing is all in the legs...you use the balls of your feet to shift your weight, which works your legs and subsequently your hips. It uses different muscle groups than traditional workouts, which are not fluid and graceful and seldom do much isolating and jiggling very quickly. Part of the problem is that I am about 30 pounds skinnier than the girls on the tape. (Substantial women---if you are looking for an exercise routine that will make you feel sexy and not out of shape, I recommend belly dancing! Having a belly is actually helpful.) I do not have hips so much as I have bony coat hanger like structures on either side of my outer thighs...if I want to jiggle I have to really put some effort into it. Where they can click-boom, I need to SHOVE-boom. NOT sexy. A good workout, but totally not sexy at this point. I also learned that I don't need huge breasts to do the upper body stuff, I just need a really kick-ass push up bra. I'm not sure where mine is. I think Jerome carried it off last time she took a nap in the laundry basket. Damn cat.

Now I will go spend the day trying to catch up with whatever files my boss spread all over my desk while I was gone yesterday, and tonight we are having my grandma over for her birthday. I think it will be fun, although I hope no one objects to me hosting in pajamas.

I work with a lot of people who love to send political and religious emails to me. This annoys me. Today's email was about a restaurant using their sign board outside to advertise political messages. There were several pictures, followed comments such as "this is sooooo true!" Then, there were some people who would go on for paragraphs starting "well...I believe that blah blah blah blah." By the time it got to me it was as though I was reading a writhing epistle of stupidity.

It wasn't as though I DISAGREED with some of the sentiments...it's that I DON'T FUCKING CARE. I am being paid to do certain tasks at work, not to listen to you blather on and on for twenty minutes about how you agree with/disagree with abortion/the death penalty/gun control.

I also do not want to receive emails bitching about the job. I like my job. I like having a job. Sure, I get frustrated with it sometimes. But company emails are notoriously not private, and while we are very fortunate to work for a company that is lenient on the personal email policy, I doubt they will smile upon your calling the boss a douchebag.

Today I responded to the bitch fest that was the political forward with "why would you want to eat at a restaurant that tries to make up for second rate food by advertising generic political sentiments? Doesn't that insult your intelligence?" Then I asked that my name be removed from the "reply all" queue.

This caused various people to stop by my desk and say things such as "yeah, but wasn't it great how that person put his thoughts out there?"

"No" I said. "I like to think for myself." I followed it with "I'm sorry, but I have to get this project out today."

Maybe I'm being a crankypants, but I really think that discussing certain topics at work should be restricted to small groups, not whole email lists. And only then when you're at lunch, or maybe doing some mindless repetitive task together----NOT when the poor person you are talking at is trying to figure out interest or something. And it should be done quietly. But that's not how it happens. Some loudmouths will come stand right next to me and talk loudly about all sorts of things, being sure to throw in lots of disgusting and TOTALLY irrelevant personal details. Today I heard about how someone's mom was molested by a family member as a child. At top volume. WHY? WHY WOULD YOU TELL AN ALMOST-STRANGER THAT DETAIL? GEEZ!

And of course, it's always people who are more opinionated than smart. They're the people who seem to forget that we're all there to work together, and that bringing up subjects best discussed in a more casual setting is NOT the way to make people feel comfortable with each other.

Lastly, I see sending around certain emails to half of the office as sort of passive aggressive. They're very "if you don't get the humor you're WRONG."

So dudes. Stop with the too-personal discussion, especially in company emails. If you REALLY care THAT much, ask me out for coffee and talks after work, don't blindside me when I'm trying to keep up with the things I am being paid to do.

I know that this book is supposed to be about "unrequited love" and how the passion of the main characters shaped their environment, but the more I read it (or read about it) the more I realize that it's simply a story about a girl who dates total assholes and destroys her family because of it.

Not that it isn't dramatic---it's just that I see this sort of thing happen every day and it really pisses me off.

I also think that too many characters have similar names. It's hard enough trying to figure out why the characters are such idiots without having to remember whether you're reading about elder Catherine, younger Catherine, Edgar Linton, Linton Heathcliff, Heathcliff, Hareton or Hindley. It's unnecessarily irritating and does not endear me to the novel.

I had to read this book in AP English class. I didn't like it then and I don't like it now. I feel the same way about many William Faulkner novels. I feel that they're badly written and really just kind of stupid. Vague, confusing writing does not always mean a story is rich with symbolism---sometimes it just means it's a lot of crap.

It's not that I dislike the classics---I like many of them, and even when I don't like a book I can usually chalk it up to my personal tastes. Usually I can still see why a book is considered a classic, even though I personally did not care for it. I did not like Joseph Conrad's Heart of Darkness or Henry James' Turn of the Screw, and I really dislike most American classics. (Seriously, Catcher in the Rye? Dudes. Grow a pair and suck it up.) Again, I realize that this is probably a reflection on my own critical nature and it really just means that I didn't care about a plot enough to really try to pry into the deeper meaning of the book. Reading is like dating...if I'm not attracted, I'm going to keep my literary pants on. Yeah, I'm a bit of a Philistine.

Still, whenever I hear someone praise some obscure, barely readable classic, I wonder if that person REALLY liked the book or if they're just trying to appear educated. Just because it's a Classic, does it mean that it's good?

I be tagged!

Dear 13 year old self:

Don't get that chin length haircut.

Sincerly,

19 year old self

Today I broke out of my daily routine of stuffing my face and aging rapidly, and I had three new experiences:

1. I took an obedience class. Mom and Dad are paying for obedience lessons for us and the dog, and we had our first one today. We're going to learn how to get Steve to settle down. He's very smart and very trainable, but he just gets too wound up around other people. We're also going to learn how to teach him what is acceptable to chew, since this morning he ate a whole roll of toilet paper. I discovered it just before we left for the class, which makes it a kind of funny coincidence.

2. I learned how to make roasted eggplant soup. It is DELICIOUS, and kind of gourmet. I might make this next time I need to impress someone with my ability to cook healthy food.

3. I got my tattoo! Skip and I got the same design but with a few differences. I kept mine just as an outline so that it would heal quickly, given my slower ability to scab up. He had his colored in and done just a little bigger. Honestly, it didn't hurt at all and it's really cute. It also gives me an excuse to show people a portion of my backside.

I'm on a roll. Maybe I'll start doing more new things, like cleaning my car or being nicer to kids.

*long pause*

Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha! Nah, I probably won't do either of those.

I have a hard time buying clothes because I am built like my dad--narrow and long in the ribcage but proportionally broad across the shoulders.

He bought me a t-shirt for Christmas and I put it on for bed just a few minutes ago. I was surprised at how well it fits me! The shoulder seams come right to the edge of my shoulders but it still fits against my sides without being too big, and it hits my hips so that no belly hangs out.

I was very excited, and immediately reached back to grab the tag, thinking that I need to buy about fifteen more in the same brand and size because this T-shirt is AWESOME.

Yeah. It's a mens' t-shirt.

I called him and he laughed at me. In a bizarre and hilarious twist of fate, today he received something womanly. Not a t-shirt, but in the form of a pap smear result which was sent to his house and billed to his insurance instead of mine, because the idiot desk girls at a certain small family practice office in Oberlin can't seem to change my fucking insurance information or address, even though I have physically reached into my own file and changed it FOR them on more than one occasion. And despite the fact that I haven't lived there in awhile, and that I have been over 18 for at LEAST a year (several times over, in fact, as I am going to celebrate another 19th birthday in a few months.)

I just emailed the office and reminded them that sending my father gynecological information despite my providing them with my own PERSONAL health insurance and address is sort of a HIPAA violation, and that they might want to correct it as soon as possible.

I mean, for crying out loud. Do I need to go smack someone upside their head?

I've decided that instead of posting some smarmy horseshit about 2007 and how I failed to live up to my resolutions (since I promptly forgot them about a week into the new yar), I will try explaining my resolutions for THIS year utilizing a series of quotes from Homer Simpson.

(My boss tried to convince me that running a marathon would be a good goal----I told him I'd only do that if there were lobsters, martinis and porno waiting for me at the finish line. Probably a good thing, since I can't find a quote that would fit that particular goal, anyway.)

Thank you, Matt Groening, for the endless font of wisdom that is Homer Simpson:

"Just because I don't care doesn't mean I don't understand." I will try to keep silent and refrain from eye rolling when various people come to me and bitch about things such as politics/money/their stupid taste in boyfriends at work. This way I can never say something that I will end up regretting. Also, I hope it will limit the times a certain person comes to me to talk about how he's always poor immediately after showing me his new $100 electronic gadget of the week.

"When will I learn? The answer to life's problems aren't at the bottom of a bottle, they're on TV!" This year I am going to learn about something new every week. I want to become educated in a variety of useless subjects. I am hoping this will make me more rounded, as opposed to just marginally more annoying. Last night I learned about moonshine. And NASCAR!

"The only monster here is the gambling monster that has enslaved your mother! I call him Gamblor, and it's time to snatch your mother from his neon claws!" This one is boring. New house, some of our immediate expenses out of the way...it's time to take a look at money and what we're going to do with it versus what we'd LIKE to do with it (ie: piss it away on booze and hookers.)

"I'm having the best day of my life, and I owe it all to not going to Church!" I'm going to haul my ass out of bed a little earlier on Sundays and go to church more regularly. I always enjoy church, but I am lazy. So indirectly, I will also be working on my laziness.

"Old people don't need companionship. They need to be isolated and studied so it can be determined what nutrients they have that might be extracted for our personal use." This is something I started talking about right after we moved in. I'm going to plant a vegetable garden this spring, because fresh produce at the grocery store is expensive and totally devoid of nutrients. I'll be able to freeze some of the stuff, too, so that I can have organic food all though winter.

"You couldn't fool your mother on the foolingest day of your life if you had an electrified fooling machine." I will try to be less gullible. What? There's candy in your large, windowless panel van? Oooh!

So those are sort of loose resolutions for this upcoming year. Let's not call them resolutions, though, because that's kind of dumb. Let's call them The Self Awarenacles.

Actually, that's also pretty dumb.

Enh, what the hell. I didn't resolve not to make up words, because that would render my life joyless and bland.