Also...

I'd like someone to read to me. Some comforting children's book would be best. Nothing funny, laughing hurts, something sweet but not so sweet that it might make me cry. A story like a warm, not too tight embrace with a cool hand on my forehead, that's what I want.

The taste of St. Joseph's Baby Asprin fading on my tongue as the feeling of sleep washes over me and carries me into the darkness of unknowing.

Hmmm. Pretty.

Sunday in Fluville

Watching the Oscars after a 4 hour nap, biding my time until I can go back to bed. The only movie I've see up for anything is The Incredibles. I was a bad movie goer this year. Oh, wait, I saw Spider-man 2, also. I really didn't see many flicks though. I'm upset that Shaun of the Dead isn't up for anything. It was such a good movie. I should watch that again soon. It's not like I'm going anywhere any time this week. I don't think I'm even going to go to therapy this week. My voice is so bad I don't want to spend an hour talking and another week without my real voice.

I'm in the mood to write, but the energy it would take is the only thing that's keeping me upright right now. I wonder why illness makes me feel creative. Is it the hallucinogenic feel of a fever that I'm mistaking for creativity? Or is it the lack of energy to do anything physical that makes my inner playthings come to life?

I wish someone would make me some soup.

I am so sick

I'm a feverish little fluffy bunny with a cough and a squeaky voice. I got up an hour ago and I think I'm going to go take a nap. I have not been this sick in a long time. So feel free to send me orange juice and well wishes.

Going back to bed.

I wrote that this morning, but I couldn't get it to post so here it is now. Last night I had a fever of 101.4, hadly surprising I wish I hadn't had to run around yesterday but somethings have to be done and I was lucky enough to have the delightful Di and her equally delightful CityCarShare car carrying me around. I feel badly that my energy level dropped dramaticly before we were done shopping and I couldn't help her up with her things. But you know Di, she was very understanding about it but I still feel as if I let her down.

I've spent much of the day in bed with an ever lowering temp. now it's almost normal, but I still feel icky. I'd happily be back in bed now, but I got up to watch Black Books and now I'm waiting for Look Around You then I'm probably going back to bed.

The girls were pleased to have me in bed, I'm glad someone was able to get something from my fever.

PS

I have some kind of cold/flu thing with a cough, sore throat, and a headache.

Envy me, losers.

Good news

I fin-a-fuck-ally started my period. If I did the math correctly, I believe that one of my ovaries is on the fritz. Sorry, I don't mean to get all clinical on you kids, if in fact you are still reading this, (you kids with your beepers and your Beanie Babies). Essentially, I skipped a period.

Hello, menopause, how ya doin'?

I've got to go to the doctor's in a month and have a mammogram. My first. I'm so not looking forward to that. Of course I've got to have blood work done within the next couple of weeks and I'm not so much pleased about that either. Oh and I get to have a pap smear in a month too.

As Di said to me when I told her I had to "scooch down a little more," I shouldn't have to tell a stranger not to touch my cervix.

Happy Birthday, Di!

If you're lucky enough to know Di then I don't have to tell you what an awesome person she is but if you aren't familiar with her I feel sorry for you. Get out of your apartments or at least take the tinfoil off your windows, it's a bright world out there, and that's thanks to Di. And the sun.

She's funny, pretty, smart, shorter than I am - I could go on and on. The best part about Di, apart from her hot ass, is that she knows what it means to be a friend. She's a kind ear, a compassionate adviser, a warm hugger, and have I mentioned her ass?

Happiest of birthdays, Di. Now take off your pants.

Urg

It's been 38 days since my last period.

I just thought you should know that.

I think it's true

It's easier to love than to be loved.

I can't believe that all this time, I haven't found the trust to let people love me. I want them to, I crave it, in fact, but I can't let it happen. That's why I'm so sure that everyone is pulling away, it's because I never trusted that they were there in the first place.

It's so ingrained that even though I can see that not everyone leaves, (more have stayed than have left in reality) it still feels like they are biding their time. It has so little to with these people. They are delightful, smart, funny people why would they value me? I always feel like I'm scrambling to be the right kind of person, the kind that my friends will love. I have hobbies that I enjoy and I'm told that I do them well, but I can't believe that what I produce is any good.

But I guess this is why I'm clinically depressed, huh?

A Crampy Day

My tummy hurts, my back hurts, my head hurts, (I must not be doing it right, HAHAHAHA) I'm sleepy and I have heartburn.

No, you can't be me, don't even ask.

Why?

Why am I still awake? (I was so tired today that I almost fell asleep in my therapist's waiting room.)

Why am I eating a roast beef sandwich at quarter past 10pm? (I think it might be a PMS thing, you know the need for red meat.)

Why am I online when I wanted to go to sleep at 7:15pm? (I was on the phone when I realized that I wanted to be in bed, unconscious. Sorry, Brian.)

Why didn't I read this sooner?

Do not stand by my grave and weep
I am not there, I do not sleep
I am a thousand winds that blow
I am a diamond glint on snow
I am the sunlight on ripened grain
I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you awake to the morning hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circling flight
I am the soft starshine at night
Do not stand by my grave and cry
I am not there, I did not die.

- Mary Frye, 1932 Isn't that lovely?

Why am I still writing when I really want to be in bed with cats leaning on me?

Why?