It's Tuesday. I'm in a funk. But there's so much out there to read and see. There's a play in New York City. There's some very nice firefighters in Vienna. There's a very big cinamony bear hopping a fence in Montana. There's a book that's in production to be a movie. And all I ever find at garage sales is other people's stuff. It's all good.
It is a truth universally acknowledged that most of the general population is more clever than I am. I spend countless hours toiling over a few lines of prose -- wrestling a plot line into submission -- while a group of people have already come up with one of the most hilarious web videos I've ever seen. The mash up of Jane Austen and "Fight Club" -- a movie about bored young men who (led by the scruffed-up-yet-still-prettier-than-me Brad Pitt) beat the crap out of each other for the adrenaline rush. The plot is a little more complicated than that -- but I think that's all you need to know.
The New York Times was full of pet stories today. Turns out the latest trend is pet-friendly home decor -- which it turns out is more complicated than having a throw on your sofa. And then there was this poignant farewell to a beloved family member.
Do you remember the heart-warming story I told you about the soldiers in Afghanistan who adopted some stray kittens? Turns out that one of the soldiers is getting a commendation from PETA for his compassion towards animals. Turns out the soldier and little KeyKey are now living in Michigan. An American hero who loves animals? I guess I should've guessed that he'd be a Michigander.
I'm finally starting to feel a little better. It's Day 17 of the Summer Sickness. I no longer have to take medicine for symptom relief every night. I'm able to get through the day without using up an entire tissue box. I don't cough until my eyes tear up anymore and I'm starting to be able to breathe through my nose. But over the last two weeks, I had my moments. This was not the kind of sickness where you can take enough NyQuil to make an Irishman beg for his mommy and hit the pillow. Nyquil didn't even touch my congestion. I had to sit up most nights. I couldn't even prop myself up on pillows on the bed in a glamorous pose ala Bette Davis. No, I had to sit straight up on the sofa.
I watched a lot of reruns on TVLand and then I got bored. So I started watching some Summer replacement television. I watched Psych-- which was set in Santa Barbara and I thought I would love -- but while it's set in SB, it isn't actually filmed there. The show had no purpose for me other than as a travelogue, so that was disappointing. I watched The Good Guys -- which is set in Dallas -- Yikes! But I love the way the writers deconstruct the structure of the show and the characters are a lot of fun. I understand their ratings are horrid. I watched Rizzoli & Isles -- which I thought was handmade just for me because I'm a middle-aged woman who loves mysteries -- but it ended up being a horrific psycho-sexual mystery that seemed very grisly and disturbing. And I couldn't identify with the female characters who must've been written by men who've never actually met a full-grown woman. Or heard one speak. Out-loud. I did discover a show called Covert Affairs, which was about a female spy working for the CIA and actually had a romantic and intriguing subplot. It's been fun watching all this television, but seriously, I'm ready to get back to the real world. It's much more fun.
It's Monday. I've been planning dinner since lunch. I'm not sure why...sometimes it's just nice to have something to look forward to. In the late afternoon, the sun comes through my kitchen window and turns my world golden. And Roxy keeps track of my cooking by sitting in the pass-through. It's my idea of Heaven.
I'm still sick. Airplane virus day #11. Turns out my virus became bacterial pneumonia/bronchitis overnight. The next thing I knew I was really really sick. I've been taking all kinds of antibiotics, decongestants, inhalants and vitamins just to get through the day. The nights are the bad parts -- I can't breathe -- I can't breathe -- seems to be my mantra. They say summer illnesses are the worst. I think any illness is the worst. I must say that I'm tired of being sick and can't want to be able to sleep through the night horizontal on a bed like a normal person. Until then I'm grateful that TVLand runs old sitcoms all night long. I love M*A*S*H! Found this story a couple of days ago on CNN. It warmed the cockles of my heart. And I noticed this story in yesterday's New York Times. (I don't think I do one of the tips on this list.) Today it's the most emailed story on the website. Oh! La! La!
I believe it has best been said in lyrics by Mary Chapin Carpenter -- a woman who's a lot better writer (and singer) than I ever could hope to be.
"Sometimes you're the windshield. Sometimes, you're the bug."
The problem is that I feel that my time as the bug is too frequent. And my time as the windshield is so infrequent that I often don't even know that I'm in the circle of power until it's over.
I caught some sort of nasty little virus on the plane back to Michigan. I figured if I gave it a few days and took it easy it would go away. Instead, the nasty little bug has decided to set up camp in my sinus cavity and lungs. I sneeze and people say, "God bless you. I have allergies too." I just nod because I figure if I try to talk and they hear a croaking frog instead they'll run off screaming. And then I cough. But it doesn't really sound like a cough anymore. It's more like a giant sexually frustrated manatee in Florida barking for his long-lost mate. It's definitely not human. I feel like such a freak. One of the guys in my office walked past my cubicle today to get a look at what was making those noises.
It's not enough that I'm feeling poorly. This morning when I was driving to work, a giant piece of plastic that was floating over the freeway wrapped itself around the front of my car and wouldn't let go. So there I was. The giant barking sea manatee driving to work at 75 mph in a Civic wrapped in plastic. So much for the bugs.
