Three Things Wrong With Today

1. I have a cold, and my entire body is weak as a noodle, and that noodle is also a terribly hurty and whiny noodle who needs to be tucked in and given tea and told she is very, very special, because her face looks really old when she's aching and sick, which is depressing, and she's pretty sure the world doesn't like her very much, and this is no time for bucking up, not when there's so much sad-making to be done.


2. Also, this introvert spent three days straight being an extrovert — seeing old friends, speaking at a conference, hanging out with toddlers who like to jump up and down loudly on giant bubble wrap — and, WOW, I am some hothouse flower of an introvert or something, because I am right at this moment working on my floorplans for my own remote, underground bunker. Anyone with communication skills more complex than my cats' set of meows and occasional pawing is not allowed.


3. I couldn't figure out what smelled like cat urine on this bus, but it seemed to be right near me, so I sniffed my way around the couple of seats I've commandeered — I moved from my purse to my coat to a diet Coke bottle, all which came up smelling pretty average for themselves — and then I decided to pull the paper cheese biscuit bag out of my garbage and check it out, even though that would be ridiculous, right? Because I had just bought that biscuit not 20 minutes before, and I would have noticed it, right? Well, apparently not, because the cheese biscuit bag wreaked of cat urine. Now all I can think about is how that cheese biscuit I ate was really a cheese and cat urine biscuit, and it's inside me right now. INSIDE ME.
   
   Would I like a little feline urine with my biscuit? Don't mind if I do. If it's not glowing in the dark, I'm not having it! Down with ammonia-poor diets!

7 Unrelated Things In a List Brought On By the Flu

I'm suffering from what can only be described as a body migraine over the last two days, so, while what I really want to write about are why lamentations about the the death of the supposed heart of blogging are misplaced and the inherent bigotry behind some people's desire for gender segregation at female dominated blogging conferences, I can't, because the first few parts of this sentence have already stripped out the few coherent word combinations I can handle right now.



Oh noes.

But fear not, reader. I will not go gentle into that good night. I am fighting this beast with mass quantities of ibuprofen and water and kitten cuddles and oh who am I kidding? I just threw up in an old popcorn bowl.

Really, I'm just asking for sympathy here. I staved this thing off all through the BlogHer '12 conference, and this is the price I have to pay for my troubles.

[From that last sentence to the one after this aside, insert TWO HOURS of writhing in pain, the loss of 24 hours worth of food and water, bloating up like I was nine months pregnant, and crying about the stabbing pains in my head. Oh, the joys!]

I am still refusing to go gently with this damn flu, but all I have the gumption for is a list, so here goes:

1. I went to BlogHer '12, and, although I know BlogHer recaps are your very favourite of things, all I can tell you right now is that it was fast and fulfilling and exhausting and bountiful and it gave me the flu.
2. Lula's new trick is to peel all the bandaids off my feet with her teeth while I succumb to fevered dreams about Bret Michaels' burial at sea. She's disgusting.
3. We delivered our letter of offer on a home we really want to be ours, which I don't need to tell you, because you can pretty much assume that if we are going to go through the work of delivering a letter of offer on a home, we probably actually want it.
4. I feel much better about that carrot cake cookie sandwich filled with cream cheese icing that I didn't eat earlier, because that would have made all the throwing up I'm doing even sadder than it already is.
5. Tomorrow afternoon, I have to make myself look like I'm not half-dead with the flu so that the bank will give us money. The bank loves self-employed ladies who look all wilty, right?
6. This point's just a thank you for reading this. You're sweet.
7. I'm listening to the Palinode crunch on Triscuits right now, and everytime I think about punching him, I just say "I love you" instead. This is my number one piece of marriage advice.

And now I'm off to bed with my puke bucket. I've named it Sweet Baby because of all the time I spend stroking it.

Good night!

Waiting for a Nice Lion to Pass By

The next sentence is problematic, but screw it.



I am just coming out from under the damp weight of a cold that the Palinode so thoughtfully infected me with just prior to our anniversary on the 11th. It's the gift that keeps on giving.



I've spent most of my time since then either reclining on the sofa or propping myself up on my elbows at the computer and declaring things to be BULLSHIT with my mind.

When I have a cold, I can spot bullshit at fifty feet, and, if anyone would pay any attention to me, I would declare 97% of all things BULLSHIT.

It's been all sweetness and light up in here.



I've also been in this wandering haze, and, looking back at my photos over the last couple of weeks, I honestly don't remember a good half of them. That one up there of the sidewalk? What was I doing? Was I lying down on the pavement?

I also get paranoid when I have a cold, and so I've had this sneaking suspicion that I am being watched all the time, but I'm thinking that if I am doing things like lying around on sidewalks in the middle of the afternoon, then maybe I'm asking for it.



Don't hate me because I'm writing all kinds of meaningful information here.



I have serious relevancy issues when I'm sick. I'm the gazelle the other gazelles dart away from to leave me as a distraction for the lions.

"Oh, hey, lions?" they would say. "You can take that pathetic one there with the toilet paper sticking out of her left nostril."



Okay, I had this idea when I got up this morning that I was seeing the ass end of this cold, but it has rallied, the bastard.

I'm just going to lie myself down on the Serengeti plain or wherever the hell it is that gazelles live and wait for a nice lion to pass by and offer me an actual facial tissue, because this repurposed toilet paper? It's BULLSHIT.