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Saturday, Feb. 07, 2004 / 1:25 p.m. ~What the Haps Is~ What shall I make of someone visiting my diary from a search for "Zoloft and moi"? I love it, truly. Damn, cold right hand from too much mouse time. I am all caught up on journals, must check diaries soon, horoscopes, news headlines. Only 71 emails waiting when I logged on... after not logging on since Thursday night. Egad. I awoke some time yesterday morning, early, feeling like nothing had changed, like all the Vitamin C and echinacea and Thai noodle bowls and water and mango nectar and tea and you name it, had not made any impact at all on this virus. Same symptoms, DRY, sore throat from the DRYness, and coughing, clogged nose, and despite what I said days ago to the contrary, when I blow, it's hard and yellowish green, with some red thrown in for fun. Clear sign of infection. It is necessary to examine one's effluvia, is that right?, effluvia? Check your snot, your feces, your urine, look at it, always, make sure it's the right color, the right consistency. Know thy body. It is thy temple, right? My temple is ransacked, there are monkeys everywhere, they've taken all the bananas from the surrounding banana trees, they've shit all over the marble steps outside, and they show no respect, overall. Alas, and alack, I made the decision, I called in sick, and I tried to think of how I would say it, and I remembered well calling in sick not long ago, when I wasn't quite sick, but that was no doubt when I opened my temple up to the monkeys, and I said, "My cold is not getting any better and I was thinking if I stay home it might". Real good, pal, way to say it, whatever, what the fuck ever in fact, but she said fine, and I brought up a work issue, oh yeah, the things are in the thing, and yeah, you'll do it, sure, whatever, yeah? Cool. End of "The Early Show", crappy interview with Rudy, and did NO ONE ask him about drinking that damn brain parasite-infested water?! Ah well. Nyquil at 9:30 a.m. and I dreamed of work procdures, like a fever-induced dream, the kind that lasts all day, you wake, you remember, I wake, I remember, take this file, this folder, this form goes where?, and how do I count this, must I count this one too?, and over and over again, wake, dream, wake, cough, cough, choke, choke, cough, blow, green-yellow-red, sleep, dream, wake, papers, shuffling, forms, what, how, why? Cat under covers, over covers, I cough, she leaves, over and over and over again, phone rings. WHAT? Phone rings. Phone never rings. It's Hermione, she said she'd call, she sent email, she's in the state, she will call when it's local, only, crazy woman. Crazy pregnant woman. She says, "Did I wake you?", and I croak, yes, croak, "Yeah, I am sick, I was asleep", can't spell the croaking, but I wanted to record my voice for posterity, it sounded so broken, so weird. We managed an hour of talk, or of me listening to her talk about her life, and me interjecting every so often. I said I needed to eat, and drink, probably, that sleeping so much means I do neither. And surely I was dehydrated, I kept thinking I must be, even with water and straw to drink at the bedside (I love my purple flexible straws!). I get up to fix more Thai noodles, and the phone rings again. THE PHONE RINGS! It's Brent, from St John, not St Thomas after all, and he sounds wired, and happy and ecstatic too, and maybe a little lonely, but we chat, and he tells me what it's like there, and since I've been there too, I know, oh yeah, it is fantastic, gorgeous, paradise, and he runs out of steam and that's that. Noodles, news, I crave news, but land on "Dateline NBC", and listen to David Gest talk about how Liza with a Z beat him up, and it's too funny, so I'm laughing through my noodles, and then Larry King, and the Carlie thing, and it's so horrible, no more laughing, and then more Nyquil and sleep, more sleep. And I feel I've missed life, I'm no longer alive, I'm just trying to sleep off this cold. But now? I'm alive, I'm awake, I even had coffee. All I've eaten since Thursday night is that one Thai noodle bowl. And I'm not hungry. I need to work on that, and I need to clean, or something, and I can't go out because I have these horrible coughing/choking attack/fits and it's so horrible, it drains me. I didn't miss being online. I considered it last night and didn't even want to be here. I didn't want to be looking at this screen, typing on this keyboard, but now I don't mind. This is where I am, this is where it's at, that's the news. Cost of the War in Iraq
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