No Soup For You.
November 20th, 2001 by Kevin
Ergh. I am still sick as a dog. I got up this morning and was covered in sweat. And not in a good way. I’m sure I woke D. up at least 30 times, because I woke myself up thrashing around like a psychotic. And not in a good way, either. Ha.I can’t get this damn EEG glue out of my hair. I washed the hell out of it, and there are still a few stubborn little bits sticking there. I probably look like a crack whore this morning. I certainly feel like one.
I am not working out today. I feel like utter and complete dog poop, and I am hereby giving myself permission to not work out. There.
I always thought it would be nice to be treated like a sitcom kid when sick. Chicken soup, served on a nice little tray in bed(Who has those trays, anyway?), maybe some hot tea, and good old Mom tucking you in and fluffing your pillows. My mom was more of the you’re-going-to-school-unless-you’re-bleeding-out-the-ears variety. Sigh.
I need Rent-A-Mommy or something. Or Rent-A-Gramma. Rent-A-Gramma would be absolutely perfect. You could rent some nice gramma who would come to your house, make your soup, give you those tasty little orange chewy-aspirins, listen to you complain without rolling her kindly old eyes, and make you tea. Yes. That would be ideal. Maybe I’ll start my own business. I’ll charter a Gramma Van and go to town, delivering warmth and elderly cheer to the Gramma-less masses. It could work.
Here is a haiku in honor of today’s gyno visit:
The evil gyno
Sticks a cold hand up my crotch
The man has no soul.
Yes, I’m feverish. I am starting to get slaphappy. I took my temperature and it was 99. Normally it’w 96.3. No one has ever figured out why it’s low. I had my thyroid checked once because of it, and it was fine. Perhaps I’m just naturally a cold bitch. Heh.
My Harry Potter books have still not arrived, and now I am practically climbing the walls waiting to read them. There have been reviews of the movie in the paper nearly every day, and I am buying right into the consumer feeding frenzy. I hope I’m not disappointed from all this hype. There’s nothing worse than being caught in a media cyclone, excitedly running out to see a movie or buy a book, and then discovering it’s crap. if I’m paying nine dollars to see a movie at the show as opposed to paying two bucks to rent it, it had better be good.
Absolutely Fabulous was on last night, and I laughed so hard that I spit Diet Coke. Patsy and Edina have certainly not lost any flair. They just make you want to smoke, sneer, and drink champagne. Wonderful, sweetie darling. It’s so nice to see a show which is hedonistic, self-effacing, and throughly un-politically correct. I can’t stand watching trite, moral-injected TV.
I really want to crawl back into bed, wrap myself in the 40-pound down comforter until I’m mummified, and stay there for about a week. Sigh. Wake me when the Soup Gramma gets here.
