In Which I Did Not Perform A Hysterectomy On My Cat With A Crochet Hook

This dead bird photo, which I took two days ago on the way home from work, is an apt representation of my present state:



I sent the following e-mail to the Palinode today:

I'm all dying over here. I just loaded up on Nyquil. Need more.
I'm wearing woolly socks and convalescing on the sofa. The non-peed on sofa.
If I could find my crochet hooks, Lula'd be uterus-less by now.

You just know that your day is not starting out well when the pain in your head has you dry-heaving over the toilet, and your cat, who you wish would finish being in heat already so you could go get her fixed, pees on one of the sofas in a fit of sexiness, and you realize you only have two Nyquil to last you the day, and then you run out of chocolate Cheerios.

This is how one finds oneself threatening one's cat's uterus with lost crochet hooks at ten in the morning and suffering from a monstrous headache just barely downsized from ginormous by a judiciously doled out and nearly gone supply of pharmaceuticals.

Just before I fell into an anxious sleep riddled with dreams of ugly design failures, I managed to cobble together four circles to create a splash page for myself, which has only taken me eight years to get together.

Ta da!



And now my be-socked feet and I are going to retreat back into our delightful haze of Nyquil and episodes of Thirtysomething on Netflix.



The End.

----------------------------

PS. No crochet hooks will be used to extract any uteri in this household. I'm not good with gore. PETA can relax now.

PPS. Thankfully, the Palinode's ordering out for food, because I can no longer fend for myself. I languished on the couch for an hour this afternoon thinking how wonderful it would be to eat toast, because I could smell toast, and it smelled delicious. Oh, if only I could have toast. It turned out that I had actually put bread in the toaster and then forgotten about it.

My No Good, Very Bad, Crazy, Sore-Boobed, Stressed, Disappointed, And Sick Day

A couple of days ago, I just thought I was crazy because I am crazy. The early bits of autumn weather that start creeping in with the shortening days is usually a warning sign to watch my seasonal depression issues.

Then, my boobs started to feel like someone had been using them as mini punching bags, and my fingers bloated my wedding rings right off, so I thought I was probably just a little bit crazy with a whopping main dish of PMS.

But, then! Then, I freaked out because the floor was damp under my feet in the kitchen. Can you imagine? What horror. I yelled about how horrible that was that my feet had to actually touch damp floor until I realized that my crazy was getting kind of out of hand. I took stock of myself and realized that, while I was still just a little bit crazy with a whopping main dish of PMS, I was also really stressed out about a pap smear redo that I had been called in for. Being that I had a hysterectomy due to cervical cancer three years ago, my stress was pretty understandable.


This was my semi-casual funeral attire style choice
for my pap smear appointment today.

Then, I woke up this morning with my little bit of crazy, my sore boobs, and my stress and went down to my doctor's office, but guess what? She didn't show up, the little minx! So, I re-scheduled my pap smear for next week and added disappointed to my list of ailments.

Then, I went and engaged in some fantastic retail therapy, because I was a little bit crazy, sore-boobed, stressed, and disappointed, and I deserved it. I managed to spend a mere $127.29 on over $510 worth of clothing at The Bay. Wha-cha!

Then, I had to take two sit-down breaks on my way home, because I was suddenly not only a little bit crazy, sore-boobed, stressed, and disappointed, but now I was also SICK, because why not throw more really crappy stuff into my crap bag of a day? I sat on benches and tweeted about nothing and huddled under a sweater and secretly snuffled tears into my collar, and I absolutely did not tackle a strange man for his cigarettes when he walked by sucking on that smoke that bathed the breeze in its sweet, sweet deliciousness.

I've decided to spend the rest of today blowing my nose and watching crap television while snorting vitamins C and D through a dollar bill, except not really, because I am a normal person who swallows them in pill form with water.

The End.

Disembowellment, Panoramas, The Flu, The Absurd, Too Much Information, The Believer, Another Poem, A Cool Can, DNA, Whipped Cream, And Vomit

The Circus of Disembowelled Plush Toys has its own charm.

Panoramic rollovers of Vancouver. Very cool.

See? Last entry, I promised to make up for my lack of facts and links in this entry, and I have already begun. It is going quite well, too. I know that my “Facts and Links” section doesn’t start until the end of my entries, but I thought I would get a head start and offer up as many tasty extras as I could stomach. You see, I am at home today with a touch of the flu, so I have to be careful about these things.

And in other news, "Poor People Pretty Much Fucked."

What happened is that I went for my usual mid-week pint. There was nothing unusual about this, except that on my way there I caught a whiff of exhaust fumes from a passing vehicle and suddenly had to clench my teeth together to keep from vomiting. That’s right, vomiting over exhaust fumes. I am not now and never have been an easy puker. I mean, when I do puke, it comes very quickly, easily, and naturally to me, but I have never been one to toss my cookies over visuals or smells or gross ideas. So, I decided that this was some sort of wacky anomaly and pushed on to my favourite pub. I sat down at my usual out-of-the-way table, re-wrapped my scarf around my neck (there is a small broken window that lets out to the entrance, and cold air blows in, but I persist), pulled out my book (I am still plugging through The Chosen among others), and the bar guy brought me a Sleeman’s. All was well. I was settled in with my scarf, a beer, and a cigarette (yeah, I have officially fallen), and I was taking my time thinking about the craft of the novel and how clever it was to put this one line in such a spot in the story, when I got all rumbley. My lower intestines did this little half-twist, which made me nervous, and then my stomach got all gassy and I let out this terrifically long-winded belch in a very quiet manner. Yikes. I thought better of having a second pint after that, packed up my things, and headed out into the cold. The cold seemed horribly bitter, moreso than I had remembered from an hour earlier, and I could feel my body shaking and chattering, and before I knew it I was ducking around the corner of the building and into the alley to have a little upchuck. Yuck. Thank god these things happen so easily for me. Anyway, because of all that, I find myself at home today feeling not altogether nauseous but definitely out of sorts. I believe that I infected the Fiery One (aka “Palinode”) with this virus, because he too crawled out of bed about an hour ago to call in to work. Poor guy.

Just a good magazine all ‘round. Have I ever read through the whole thing? Never. But I should.

I shall add this to my growing list of five-minute poems I have written (now consisting of two) since entry #18: "bad poetry, signs, and paper dresses".

A Thursday Depression to Beat the Band

Today I wonder where the word went,
the one I used to roll on my tongue when I first learned it
and would marvel at its shape, its texture,
the sheer ingeniousness of its invention and evolution,
the millions of people whose thoughts and word usage colluded
to create this order of letters.
Today I wonder where it went,
and the dictionary, the thesaurus, they are offering me nothing.
The days when I cannot taste the language
are flat,
and I am certain that an old Remington or Smith-Corona
could pound some flavour into the paper
if its ribbon has not gone dry.

The Comeback Can: a cool thing to make (and this stuff ain’t just for kids).

The best Christmas present ever! DNA never gets old.

Okay, okay. I know I’m going overboard, but I can’t help it. This album cover is just too good.

Vomit Facts and Links:
* Vomiting has a variety of causes: medications, viral infections, motion sickness, migraine headaches, morning sickness during pregnancy, food poisoning, chemotherapy, bulimia, and alcoholism are several of them. In children, infection in the middle ear, airways, urinary system, or appendix accompanied by a temperature is often followed by vomiting.
* The fear of vomiting is called “emetophobia.” If you are an emetophobe, or know one, take a look at Emetophobia Online or emetophobia.org.
* Induce vomiting in your cat if it has eaten any tomatoes! Tomatoes are a member of the Nightshade family and contain an alkaloid called “solanine” that is poisonous to cats.
* There is an illness known as Cyclic Vomiting Syndrome. It is characterized by recurrent prolonged episodes of vomiting, nausea, and prostration with no apparent cause. Check out the Cyclic Vomiting Syndrome Association.
* If you accidentally consume the chemical sodium azide and vomit to relieve yourself of it, do not throw your vomit down the drain. Sodium azide emits a toxic gas when it is mixed with water and can make the drain to explode, possibly causing serious damage.
* According to Suzy’s World, bile, which breaks down the food in your stomach, is what makes your vomit bitter and gives it that greenish yellow colour.
* The turkey vulture may project offensive smelling vomit as a defence if a person gets too close and acts in a threatening manner.