Friday, Jan. 25, 2002 / 11:51 a.m.

~Incredibly Eloquent, Articulate, Early Morning Ramblings From the Cube~

Is bronchitis contagious? No immune systems, these people have no immune systems. Listerine is constantly sick, no kidding, constantly sick. In the year that she has sat behind me she has been sick more often than well. It�s gross, hearing her moan, besides the semi-constant muttering and nonsensical humming. Now it�s this phlegmy cough, followed by a moan. And M (the Manager) comes around and she�s sick, again, Lulu asks about it, is she better?, and she says she waited too long, no one should wait, go to the doctor, get it checked out, she has bronchitis, her two boys now have it. She�s another one, always sick, no shit, every other week. I�m not kidding. You think I�m exaggerating, for effect, but I am not.

After I heard M saying this, Listerine let out a lung-spewing cough, and I immediately wished I had Internet access, WebMD, help me! I hate being surrounded by all this illness, and I need to add that despite being a very educated sort of hypochondriac, the hypochondriac part of me is exaggerated, for effect, really I�m just incredibly aware of my body.

Know how I�ve been saying I�ve had these peculiar flu-like symptoms? How I think it�s job-related, perhaps psychosomatic? How maybe it�s my strong immune system constantly fighting off whatever is here, whatever is trying to take over my body, because I never actually get �sick�?? Well, two things, one is I�m right. On all counts. I really am. I am exposed to more viruses than a missionary in Africa. Okay, well, missionaries are exposed to intestinal parasites too, not so much viruses, but yeah. Bad example. Either way, yeah, this is a viral cesspool, this job site. And I ingest vast amounts of vitamin and herbal (if it�s �herbal�, should it be �vitaminal�?) supplements on a daily basis to combat the invading armies of nasties.

Point is, it works. I start to feel sick, fairly often, oh no, I�m getting it, but then I don�t. I never do. Get �it�. I haven�t been officially sick in over a year. My last head cold, and it was fucking severe (!), was in December of 2000. Oh, it was hell, pure hell. We won�t talk about it here.

Another thing, and this is more of me being finely tuned to my corporeal being, is that it seems to be a PMS symptom. And when I left the PMS Study, the Study in which I participated for some three months, documenting my every physical/emotional/mental symptom, for some $150 or so and the welfare of women everywhere, I told the nurse who worked with me that I think this is a symptom too. She/they should study it, I�d said. Yeah, really, my immunity gets fucked once a month, every month, like clockwork, flu-like/cold-like symptoms. I can live without a calendar, just listening to my body, feeling it, knowing it as well as I do.

And what amazes me, truly AMAZES me, is that not everyone is like this. Those women who say, �I�m so cranky and I don�t know why!�, well, er, when is your period? �Oh, right, that might be it�. Duh. How can you not know? How?

So many people never question anything, they live their lives believing everything they�re told, never asking for more. And they seem happy like that, being ignorant. Okay.

In other news: �Temptation Island 2� was fabulous last night, sexilicious, prurient sleaze. These are real people, real people who wanted to be on TV, who wanted to be tempted by beautiful members of their opposite sex, in Costa Rica, on a resort. They signed up for it, they are so foolish. The one who cried because she said she misses her boyfriend so horribly�she wasn�t crying because she misses her boyfriend, she was crying because she is being consumed, CONSUMED, by jealousy. That other one, Genevieve, couldn�t stand it either, so she got out, got them both out, herself and her beau, by proposing marriage to him, on videotape.

I wonder if they�re still �engaged�.

No, really, I love that these people have signed up for this debauchery. Then they whine, they cry, they explore the beautiful young singles at their �disposal� with tongues, hands, eyes, and anything else they have, then fill up with regret, doubt and confusion. Torture. Masochism. Pure and simple. It�s excellent on so many psychological levels. And sexual, of course. In fact, one of the most interesting aspects is the constantly blurred line between love and sex.

Last night one of the men went on a date with a new woman, new to him, and as he lay on this beautiful sailboat, sailing around the coast, arm around the nubile young scantily clad thing next to him, his narrative voiceover described how he had �fallen in love� with her, it was �love at first sight�.

Another, one of the women, has met a man to whom she is intensely attracted, the chemistry between them oozes all over the screen, the cameramen have to wipe their lenses clean when shooting these two together, and she talks of this �thing�, this something, she feels. And I watch, laughing, hearty guffaws of laughter, as I shout out to no one in particular, �It�s LUST, baby, it�s called fucking LUST!�. I bet she doesn�t know why she�s cranky once a month either.

She sits in front of the camera, alone, crying, whining about how �confused� she is, how she is not used to �not knowing how she feels�, this is new to her. No doubt. Whoo hoo!!!

I wonder if there is a message board online for this show. Surely. I need to find it and �talk� to some other �fans�. It�s too much to keep to myself!

Yet other news: I think Gladys is depressed. Either that or she is ill. She is sort of listless. Not blurry eyed, not dull coated, just sits sometimes, looking�unhappy. I try to cheer her, but not much seems to work. She sleeps all day, then sleeps all night, then runs around a bit in the middle of the night. Typical, I know, but her zeal, her zest for living (any other �z� words?), seems to be absent of late.

I vow to force her to have fun, this weekend. Maybe I�ll buy a trampoline. No, she wouldn�t like that. Maybe I�ll get out those rabbit fur mice I have stashed away, we�ll toss them around for a bit. Or maybe that lump on her belly is cancer after all, and she is one step from the doorjam of death. Doorstop? Doorstep? Death�s doorstep? Doorway? Hell, I don�t know. I will not tolerate a depressed cat. No sirree.

Hey, I have so much I want to write all of a sudden. I want to write about how much Lulu disgusts me, how everyone tolerates her, even after how blatantly she LIED, how I was cleaning my glasses first thing and was reminded how bothered she used to be by me cleaning my glasses, how strange that is. I want to write about how disgusted I am that she is constantly on personal calls now. She, like Rasta, like Laverne, must keep talking, all day, she HAS to talk, or she will die. She will curl up and die if she can�t talk. Yak, yak, yak. Sad, very sad.

I would like to write about how I think it�s wrong, yes, wrong, to make personal calls all day at one�s job. And how maybe I think it�s because I�ve worked jobs wherein it was expressly forbidden to make or receive personal calls. That�s what I�m used to. I�d even like to write about how things used to be around here, when Michael was our Supervisor, how he actually Supervised, how he kept tabs on everyone, things were never this lax.

Yeah, but I won�t take time to write about those things now. Insert winky smily here. (I never know how to spell �smiley�. Is it �Smily�? �Smilie�?, �Smylie�? �Smiley�? MS Word likes the last one best�)

Oh, something else I�d like to write about, but probably won�t, I told Sabrina to relish, to cherish, the early morning quiet here, and that I like to sit and write lately, in this time, and she asked, wanted to know what was up with that shit, and I told her I keep an online diary, and she asked more questions, and I casually did NOT mention Diaryland, but told her to do a Google.com search for online diaries, or online journals and she�d find thousands and thousands. I do not think I exaggerated. Nope. It was nice for her to be so fascinated. And she was. Fascinated. Hmmm�

Ewwww, I thought of something else, the way Lulu says, �Happy Friiiiieeeedayyyy� on Fridays. Blech. Okay, look, she disgusted me even before the whole fallout. She is so syrupy phony. I shiver with the thought.

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