duckduckthrall: (Default)
Oh my god, I can't breathe. The chest funk is clearing up, but it has evidently headed straight for both my throat and my nose. Especially my nose. I think my sinuses may literally be on fire. I would not be surprised. I woke up this morning with what felt like a sharp stick jammed up my left nostril, and it more or less has not abated since then. I went up to the clinic to see about my throat and ears this morning. The doctor said that at this point, it's likely viral, but since I'm leaving next week and it could turn into an infection, he gave me antibiotics. Which should also fix sinus infections. I fucking hate my sinuses. Damn them right to hell. Whyyyyy must they hurt? Whyyyy?

Experience would indicate that you can only write about a certain topic for so long. In this case, my sinuses. Experience is wrong. I can keep talking about my sinuses until the cows come home. Ow. My nose. Ow. My nose. It's... not good. There was this brief five minutes where I was in the shower, and I could breathe, and everything. Now, I'm back out, and the pressure is like somebody is stabbing the hell out of my left nostril. I'm tempted to actually jam a pen up there and hope actually stabbing it will fix it. Which reminds me of when I was at the clinic this morning and told my dad that if he lent me a pen, I would jam it up my nose to relieve the sinus pressure. To my utmost surprise, he handed me a pen. I didn't stick it up my nose, but was surprised that he would let me.

After the clinic, we went up to Starbucks where some WASPish ladies were sitting discussing how much they loved Don't Ask, Don't Tell, which earned them such a glare from me, I may have left a hole in the side of the building. I asked for the pen again, and my dad almost gave it to me until he figured out whose nose I was going to stick it up. I mean, not only is being gay entirely legal here, being married and gay and gay-married is ALSO LEGAL. Talk about being in the entirely wrong country while you complain. I wasn't allowed to be loudly bitter about it, despite how loud they were being, and despite the fact that they were essentially spouting hate speech right next to me. Sometimes I really hate people.

It's funny how little CSI I've watched in the past few years, and how *many* I've watched just this season. I have to admit that, despite years and years of bumps in the road, I'm kind of happy with where the show went. Sure, it meant that people had to leave, but it's been so *nice*. Maybe I just say that because I enjoy seeing Jorja Fox on my TV again, and also knowing how much happier Sara is as a character now that things have finally been figured out. Also, I like that Laurence Fishburne didn't come in to replace anybody. Although, the character he plays is just a touch too close to Morpheus for me to not call this, at least in part, type-casting. He's also a damn fine specimen to look at every week. Quiet. He turns 50 this year. That puts him right in my age bracket for men.

Also, I'm not sure how recent a development this is, or whether it's a once-off, or whether it's been going on for awhile, but Katee Sackhoff is on CSI now, and she makes a delicious homicide detective. She makes a delicious everything, but it's weird seeing her outside of being a viper pilot. I *am* still trying to figure out what colour her hair is supposed to be, however. It's red, but not exactly a natural shade of red. Anyway, she looks *good*. I would not be averse to writing some backstory for her character. Or some forestory. Or some currentstory. And I swear I'll get right on that, after this cold starts to get better. Really, as soon as my sinuses show signs of not killing me. Perhaps it'll give me something to do on the plane. Good idea, or good idea? That's what I thought.

My sinuses are draining. Ish. I could do with a little more draining, a little faster, and not all over my hands/keyboard. Really, I will just settle for not having a stick up my nose tonight. Deal? Deal.

Word Count: 762
Word Count to Date: 31961
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It's not so much that I'm cranky, as much as I'm tired of her smoking inside. Sure, she's trying to do it under the fume hood for the stove, but it is NOT. FUCKING. WORKING. And I can barely breathe enough as it is. JESUS. CHRIST.

Somehow, in my sleep last night and possibly this morning, I managed to read almost an entire month's worth of Globe and Mail and Yahoo News headlines in Google Reader, as well as 5 days worth of feeds. I was at January 16th the last time I was awake, and now I seem to be at the 21st. I think the lesson here is, don't sleep and surf the internet. I should have learned that by now.

Woo! I managed to finally change my mood theme for my regular LJ. This is full of awesome, although it would be slightly more full of awesome if I were actually *using* said LJ at the time. Obvs, it would be cooler were I actually using said LJ.

Okay, well, I just took approximately 5 minutes to add the same mood theme to this particular LJ. Woo! Let's all feel emotions! Ow, my back. That's an emotion. That emotion is pain.

This has taken me three days to write, so you can imagine how I must be feeling. The answer is irritated. I just want to stop having this cold. Mom is sending me up to the clinic tomorrow on the off-chance that this cold has turned bacterial. My guess? No, it's probably a stupid, pernicious virus that I would like to beat the crap out of. Of which I would like to beat the crap out. That doesn't sound any better.

It's basically just your average cold, with the exception that my ears are going, and so I have middle ear issues like the day is long. There's nothing like feeling absolutely fine, and then needing to lie down in the middle of anywhere because you're so dizzy you could probably throw up. I'm not so concerned about the throat, other than that I wish it would hurry up and cure itself, I'm not so worried about my nose, although I like stuffed sinuses as much as I like rhinoceroses walking on my cup of coffee, but I cannot deal with the ears. Ear pressure is annoying, ear *pain* is annoying, but ear-vestibular issues are the bane of my existence. I don't think I look forward to my odds with the airplane.

My water glass moved. From the floor to the coffee table. I know I didn't do it, and I'm pretty sure Pegasus hasn't grown opposable thumbs, but I still don't remember anybody coming and moving it. Paying attention for the win.

Ruy and I booked flights and hotels within Europe a couple of nights ago. I'm proud of us. We're working on attractions next. I mean, as much as you can plan ahead with places like London, and see all the sights, I'm pretty sure you can't book hookers in advance in Amsterdam. There are words I didn't think I would type... ever. Yaaaaay, hookers!

I might be kidding. I don't know that we'll actually hire any hookers. But if we do, we can't hire them in advance. ...who wants to see Harry Potter sights? *changes subject swiftly*

Ooo, I am going to need that thing you plug in to get stuff computer. ...the power adapter! Yes! I need the power adapter. I am surely firing on all cylinders today.

"What? Why is CSI on? It's not Thursday! It's... oh, it is Thursday. Yeah, definitely firing on all cylinders."


"Did you know the cat is drinking your water?"
"No, that's fine, I let her. Well, I don't let her, as much as I have a lot of trouble stopping her."

Ray just became a CSI 2. I'm not even sure I know who Ray is. Well, I mean, it's probably Morpheus, but I don't actually know that his name is Ray. Let's say... yes. I do know that I applauded. ...mostly, my parents just put up with my quirks. That's right, I clap for the TV. Just call me Aunt Marioara.

Alright, where was I? Ah, yes, CSI. Because it's Thursday. Apparently. I thought it was Friday. Or at least Tuesday.

HI ECKLIE! LONG TIME NO ECKLIE! ...he can't see me, can he.

Word Count: 762
Word Count to Date: 31199
duckduckthrall: (Default)
Wicked chrysanthemum party boat.

Apparently, last night, while falling asleep, I thought these were important words to remember. So, there they are, and... there we are.

I think you can pretty much gauge the success of a day, based on how long you manage to not change back into your pyjamas. Today, I lasted a little more than an hour, and only because there was coffee to be gotten. Coffee to get. Whatever. Grammar isn't my primary function right now. Not dying of pharyngitis, laryngitis, strep throat, or pneumonia are my top goals for the day. They'll probably be my top goals for tomorrow too. However, tomorrow, I need to go to at least two banks, and possibly get coffee again. I'm hoping for a vast improvement in the not-feeling-like-dying department.

Right, so, I lasted all of the time it took to get coffee and groceries (barely), the time it took to literally choke down breakfast (oh, solid food, when will I learn), throw breakfast back up, and brush my teeth, before I was right back in my pyjamas. Things like naps are fun. This reminds me that taking such a nap is likely in my best interests. Ow. Ow.

I pranked him. To death with a tire iron. I don't know what it is about Christopher Walken, but he's humorous in ways that shouldn't be humourous. Just the ways he puts the emphasis on his words is hilarious. Plus he dances. Who can ask for more than that?

I bring this up mainly because Ruy and I are watching SNL's Best of Christopher Walken. Okay, well, we're taking a lunch break, but I believe we'll be getting back to it after lunch. Then comes SNL's Best of Will Ferrell 1 & 2, because Will Ferrell is and always has been my first comedic love. Outside of improv, that is. Nothing quite holds a candle to Ryan Stiles and Colin Mochrie. But if I had to pick a conventional comedian, I'd pick Will Ferrell first and foremost. He's made some epically bad movies, sure, but who hasn't? *cough Teenage Space Vampires, Robin Dunne cough*

My throat still hurts, and it is absolutely painful to laugh. It might actually be painful to listen to me laugh, as I sound like a dying walrus. Again, my voice is fading out, except instead of just fading out completely, I've lost an octave. By this, I mean that my voice is an octave higher than usual, as my vocal cords are too sore to come down any lower. This is laughable, because, as anyone who knows me knows, I don't exactly have a low voice to begin with. And I would laugh. If it weren't for the pain, and the walrus dying.

So, I'm guessing that Day 3 isn't when you start to decide if you have strep throat or not, right? Or... I don't know, strep ear. I used to get ear infections all the time as a kid, and now I never seem to, which is bizarre, because my ears hurt. Whatever this is, it isn't my conventional cold, because it isn't affecting my nose at all. Except for my stupid sinuses. So, occasionally, I do wake up with my head splitting in half and wanting to scream. But as far as nasal congestion goes, there's nothing. If a rhinovirus is a conventional cold, with the stuffy nose and everything, what do you call something that's mainly in your chest? Other than chestyvirus.

Turns out we'll just call it chestyvirus. Or pharyngitis, as I'm fairly sure my throat is swollen.

Ruy and I are booking our flights around Europe, and it feels a lot like one of those Computer Science problems I had to do in university, where you find the best route, and the best price, and something about Koenigsberg and his bridges. Ruy is moderately cranky, because he's dealing with work at the same time, but I'd kind of like it if he didn't take it out on me, because all I'm doing is trying to be helpful. He has leapt down my throat no less than fourteen times in the last 2 hours.

Mariana is watching the movie channel with descriptive video, which is great, because I don't even have to look at the television. However, she also thinks that turning the heat up to 25 is reasonable, and even I, who gets cold easily, think this is completely ridiculous.

I cannot begin to fathom what she might be watching, however. Tap dances with a skipping rope? What does that even mean? I'd maybe marry the descriptive video reader, though. So bland and monotonous...

Word Count: 775
Word Count to Date: 30437
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Glargh. I have the plague. Well, not the literal plague, but surely close enough to it. Generally, colds start in my nose, and make me feel like an absolute mess for a few days, and then move down to my chest. This one started in my throat, spread to my chest, and I can barely talk for the pain. Coughing hurts, breathing hurts, swallowing hurts. So, evidently, this is going to be one of those days.

I just got to January 14th in my Google Reader feeds, and they finally decided to amputate Zsa Zsa Gabor's right leg. That's a very sad thing, but I'm glad they finally came to some sort of agreement about it, as I was quite tired of the "Zsa Zsa Gabor's Leg May Need Amputation," "Doctors Hem and Haw Over Gabor's Leg," and "The Leg: To Amputate or Not To Amputate?"

Ruy is also sick with the plague, and I'm pretty sure we have mostly decided that it's Robin Dunne's fault. Or, if Robin gets the plague, we gave it to him. Either way, I feel like I just got involved in his health. Random.

I'm pretty sure I'm not allowed to just keel over and nap, but damn, I would certainly like to.

He's got a demon in a box that paints pictures. In other words, I am absolutely listening to part 2 of 10 of The Colour of Magic by Terry Pratchett for nigh on the fifteenth time. I think I miss a part every time I listen to it. I don't know how that's possible. I don't think I'll ever finish this book.

Still haven't taken that nap. Would desperately like to take that nap. Ow, broken stomach and throat and chest. Definitely broken. Also, I'm losing my voice, one bit at a time. Unpleasant.

The good news is that I finally made it past Part 2. For good this time, I think. Yay! The thing about the Discworld books, other than the fact that I type Discoworld *every* *single* *time* I go to type it out, is that you can never listen to (or read) the same part too many times. You always pick up something new on the second, third, or ninth read-through. I think that's the most marvellous thing you can have with a book. I think it's the same with Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit, as well. I've read The Hobbit at different ages, and every time, I catch something new. I love you, books.

I had dinner, though that was kind of the only meal I had today other than coffee. I just wasn't terribly hungry, and I ended up throwing up dinner anyway. Not because it bugged my stomach so much, but because there's something about a buildup of mucous in your throat that makes everything really, really unappealing. So, I guess what I'm saying is that mostly I threw up because I was sick, not because I was having issues with the gastroparesis. And now I don't want to think about cooked carrots ever again. Which is a shame.

Ruy finally made it home from work (early, all things considering), and it's nice to have him here. I kind of hate being all alone when I'm sick. I'm not entirely alone, obviously, because Mariana is here, but I doubt she wants to here me whine about how I'm losing my voice. By the way, if I haven't mentioned it yet, I'm losing my voice. It keeps fading in and out, and it's worse when my throat is particularly sore (say, after a bout of coughing, or just after I wake up). I don't think I fancy getting laryngitis right before I leave for Europe, because I doubt they'd go any easier on me going through security and customs, and I'm already pretty terrified of the whole process.

Also, as per usual, with every plane trip I've taken in the last 7 years (so, what I define as "recent," as opposed to when I was 7, and took my first and last planes for 13 years), my ears are getting ready to be a pain in the ass while flying. I don't look forward to taking off or landing, because I will likely be sobbing in pain, next to people I don't know, trying to look like an adult. Ah, fuck it, maybe I'll get some sympathy.

I'm nervous about flying, but more nervous about dealing with security and customs, as I'm likely still radioactive, and they're going to hassle me. I have the note from the hospital, but I'm sure this won't stop them from being utter douchenozzles about it. Someone remind me to take an Ativan before going through. I can totally maybe do this.

Word Count: 793
Word Count to Date: 29662


Feb. 6th, 2011 11:42 am
duckduckthrall: (Default)
This is to inform me (and Lisa), that I have dropped out of getyourwordsout, because I can't handle the pressure. I still plan to post 1000-word rambles over here, but I think it's better for me to set my own goal, and one that isn't quite so insane.

I'm not disappointed in myself. Things do come up in life, and this year is no different. I made it to over 28000 words in a month, and I'm quite proud of that. I still plan to edit my NaNos, and hopefully still take part of that in November. But no more GYWO craziness. *sadface*


ETA: For my own sake, I'm setting my goal this year for 200000 words, which I'm fairly confident I will have surpassed by November. I'll write a pledge (to myself) in the next entry, saying as such. I'll even get one of those fancy progress bars. Everyone's gonna be so *happy*.

Word Count: 155
Word Count to Date: 28869
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I was almost productive today. I got my hair cut, or trimmed, really, as she didn't take a lot off. I exercised by walking home from Lynda's house with my dad, after stopping for groceries four zillion times. I'm unpacking boxes of stuff my parents asked me to go through, which I will get to in a minute.

I feel like I've twisted my stomach. I don't even see how that's possible, but you know how sometimes it feels like you've pulled a muscle in your back, or neck, or shoulder? Well, it's like that, only it's my stomach. Can stomachs *get* twisted? If so, mine is. If not, why the hell all the pain? I've been good. I haven't had solid food in about four days, give or take. Ugh. I just can't win.

So, anyway, these boxes. The first one was full of stuff from my desk. I had notebooks, stuff from co-op, random pens, and all kind of things that got turfed. Unfortunately, I felt I ultimately had to keep some of the co-op stuff, if only because maybe someday I'll need it. It gives me stomach pain just thinking about it, really. Well, actually, most things give me stomach pain, but this just churns my gut. The last things I want are more reminders of co-op. I'm tempted to go back through that pile and just chuck all that stuff. If there's good information in there, UBC Computer Science Co-op cannot possibly be the only ones who have posted it somewhere. The internet is for more than porn (you know, occasionally), and boy is that song stuck in my head.

Okay, so I went back and tossed out some more Co-op stuff, and put some other stuff in the thrift pile. I have now gone through 4 boxes, and managed to pare it down to just 1. Well, 1 and a half. I've hit a point where I need to consult Ruy about some of the stuff and I can't get back to it until I've talked to him. WOO! Enforced break time!

Hooo, boy. I thought I just read in my Google Reader that they auctioned off Dennis Hopper last weekend (last weekend being sometime in early January). It turns out they just auctioned off some of his stuff and memorabilia. That's less weird. Especially seeing how I think it's illegal to auction a dead body.

Related, Peter Fonda found a dead body in his car. I'm curious now if it was Dennis Hopper's. Oh, *a* car. Well, what was he doing looking for Dennis Hopper's body in someone else's car?

Down to the last box of stuff before I tackle the closet. I can't believe how much stuff I've gotten rid of, that I would have hesitated about a few years ago. I guess, in a way, it's therapeutic to get rid of all this stuff. Why on Earth was I keeping all my damn notes from English and Pyschology 12? Like I want to be reminded of high school, even if English 12 was one of my favourite classes in high school.

And then I finished those boxes, and got to watch CSI. Everybody was really happy. I know I was, because I got to watch CSI, and see Sara interact with her mother-in-law. And we got to see Grissom at the end! Whee! Feel-good story of the year!

I have, in general, thrifted a bunch of my stuff, thrown away a bunch more, and recycle a huge amount of paperage from university, that I am pretty glad to be rid of, because there's only so long you want to have information about your Comp Sci 320 class. And an even smaller amount of time that you want to have information from your Psychology 100 class, that you took in the summer of 2005. Especially seeing as how it's 5 and a half years later.

How do I feel now? I feel like I got something accomplished yesterday, and not just in terms of exercise. I really feel like I sorted through a bunch of things that I would have been hesitant to throw away 3 years ago. It could be that I'm finally growing up and out of keeping weird material things, or it could just be that I've seen too many episodes of Hoarders. 34errrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr 6. I completely agree, Pegasus. How wise you are for only being 4 months old! Also, thank you for chilling the fuck down since last night; we all really appreciate a calmer, non-agitated Peggles.

And she even settled down on my chest last night before we went to bed, which was nice, because I was feeling incredibly anxious, and nothing cures a bout of anxiety better than a Peggles cuddle. I also watched (or rather, listened to) the last episode of Midsomer Murders. I hear it's not actually the last episode, but Barnaby retired, and his cousin is apparently taking over. I didn't know Barnaby had a cousin, but apparently he does. I suppose I could look up whether it's still on, since we're at least a series behind here. Yes, apparently they're in the middle of the 14th series. "???TRRRRRRRRRRRR567111117qi Thank you again, wise Peggles. They're in the middle of *filming* the 14th series? I guess? You would think my parents would know this kind of thing better than I do, and apparently, it is so.

I guess John Nettles kind of needed to retire the character, and go on to other things, and possibly retire at some point himself (he's four years older than my dad). I think we can pretty much always count on reruns, because I've only seen 10 episodes, and they always seem to be the same ones. I don't think I've ever seen the very first episode, so that's somewhere to start. If I *have* seen it, I've probably seen it six times.

Also, it appears that Hugh Laurie is going to show up at the football. I mean, at the Super Bowl. Sorry, apparently I still can't watch the TV and type at the same time. I don't *think* he's enough to make me stay awake for the football, but... no, no, he is not. Stupid football.

Word Count: 1038
Word Count to Date: 28714
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Instead of going to bed early, like I planned to, and, you know, was actually in bed doing up until a half-hour ago, I'm up and watching something called 'Machete' with my dad. I'm not actually trying to watch the movie, but I figure it's as good as anything to have in the background. Very... violent, though. Hey, if it makes my dad happy. Also, for serious, Robert De Niro playing some sort of southern governor. Honey, I think I've now seen you play just about everything.

I actually sprang out of bed with an urge to catch up on my writing. Also, the cats were finally tired out from throwing themselves at each other, and had finally settled themselves into two separate, yet relatively close together, napping spots.

Oh, Steven Segal. You are so delightfully evil. Even when you play good guys, you're evil. And it's almost never delightful.

I'm catching up on Google Reader. I don't think there will be a time when I'm *not* catching up on it. I'm back at 18000+ unread items, and date-wise, around the 8th of January. I can't read fast enough, apparently. By the time I get the news, everything has already changed and/or escalated and/or been dealt with.

Here's an interesting factoid, however: Victoria Beckham is having her fourth child. I'm honestly surprised that she wants to mess up her "perfect" (read: disgusting) figure, by incubating another possible future soccer player. There's no love lost between Mrs. Beckham and I, partially because we don't know each other, but partially because I think she's a horrible role model to... anyone. Even her so-called BFFs in Hollywood. I feel sorry for the people she takes under her wing. I mean, don't you think Katie Holmes has enough on her plate with being married to Tom Cruise and being a Scientologist wife? Should she really be taking tips from Little Miss Stick Legs? No. No, she should not.

*stops to warm up mashed potatoes, because stick legs made her think of chicken legs, which made her think of the mashed potatoes she has in the fridge*

Mashed potatoes make me thirsty.

Okay, seriously. You put crosshairs over a picture of someone's face on a map, and you don't consider that inciting violence? Are you completely *stupid*? Just add this to the multitude of reasons that I can't stand Sarah Palin and her ilk. Or her elk.

Ugh. It turns out that Lindsay Lohan is in this movie. Really? Somebody let her be in a movie in the last year? Poor idea. Very poor idea. Also, that's very classy, Lindsay. Her whole role was to be naked and in a pool. That's acting for you.

Natalie Portman is pregnant. See, this? This I care about. Natalie Portman is a great role model. Also, she doesn't have stick legs, and has never made me feel bad about myself, that I can remember.

This should come as a surprise to pretty much no one, but apparently it *snowed* in early January. Shocked? I knew you would be.

*looks up at the TV* No, Lindsay, you still can't act your way out of a paper bag. I'm sorry, but it's true. Who thought putting you in this movie would be a good idea?

While I can see why the mashed potatoes were a good idea, I'm not entirely sure why I had the glass of chocolate milk, as lactose-free as it was. Also, this means I've used up all of my milk, and I only just bought it this afternoon. Oh, but those mashed potatoes were so tasty.

And then she dressed up as a nun and shot Robert De Niro? THIS MOVIE MAKES NO SENSE.

Oh, that's lovely. Some guy in Mission is being charged $5200 because he was growing cucumbers in his basement. That's right, cucumbers. Not even a drug. You can't even smoke a cucumber. I can't wait to see the reasoning they come up with for this one.

The very first survivor winner, whom I didn't much care for, apparently never refiled those tax returns for which he went to jail. That's good. Nice to know he's still approximately still as much of a scumbag as before.

Apparently, it's twice as dusty now on Earth, as it was in the 19th century, and scientists aren't sure why. I think I can work this one out for them. Uh, guys? You know what dust is made up of, right? And that the population has increased quite a bit since then? You *did* know that? Good, then why are you surprised?

I kind of wonder why Apple decided that the Mac needed an App Store. It's something that makes a lot of sense on a portable device such as the iPhone or iPad, because apps are relatively inexpensive, and you're generally interested in picking up interesting things to play/use. Everything on a Mac, software-wise, costs an arm and a leg. How exactly is the App Store going to make that any better? What's going to help about paying $500 for Office in the App Store, versus paying $500 for Office by going to the Apple Store, or buying it online? I mean, sure, there's less packaging, but when I go looking for a new application for my Mac, I'm going to look online at free alternatives before I bother opening up the App Store and browsing through it. However, despite all this, I mainly have one thing to say: Microsoft, DON'T GET ANY IDEAS, DAMN IT.

Subway is apparently coming out with gluten-free sandwiches. Right in time for me NOT TO BE ABLE TO EAT THEM. Thanks, Subway. Nice to know you could keep up with the times.

It's hard to believe that at this time last year, the Olympics were going on, or at least, about to begin. In Vancouver. That still boggles my mind. I can't believe we hosted the Olympics, and didn't manage to publicly embarrass ourselves (much). I wish I was still settling in downtown, listening to the crowds one block over on Robson, and music and celebrations happening all through the night, for two weeks straight. It was like the whole city was having a party. Actually, at one point, the whole city kind of *did* have a party. I believe it was around the time that Canada won men's hockey. A spontaneous dance party broke out, if I recall correctly. There's really nothing cooler than that.

And with that, I'm finally off to bed, as I can barely keep my eyes open, I need to be up earlyish to get my hair cut, and I was supposed to be asleep three weeks ago. Wait, what? I mean, three hours ago. I shouldn't try to pay attention to movies while typing (my dad is watching Space Cowboys). Three hours ago.

Word Count: 1139
Word Count to Date: 27676
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I'm pretty sure it's considered weird to tap the rhythm of a song out on your computer keyboard. Especially when you're actually trying to read through something, and keeping tapping right past it, to keep up with the song. Such are the perils of listening to music while reading Google Reader. It can't be weirder than jamming earphones in your ears and shutting out the sounds of "The Boxer" by Simon & Garfunkel, with the sounds of "The Boxer" by Simon & Garfunkel (but louder, and from your computer, you see).

Today has been a real trial of my patience. I got to sleep in, which was a real piece of peace. But then when I woke up, none of my limbs would coordinate, so getting dressed took some veritable effort. I took the bus back to my alma mater for the first time in nearly two years, so that I could catch another bus to my doctor's office. I got tangled up in my Tesla biography (and I've only just arrived at the Foreword) and nearly missed my stop. I waited at London Drugs for Ruy to arrive, and only realized at 10 past noon that I was late meeting him, even though I'd gotten to the area early. What can I say? I found a book in the book aisle about cats and got a little too caught up in it.

The appointment went fine, and I have painkillers for Europe. These are all very good things. I aired my grievances about the stupid dietitian, I got the results of my radioactivity test back (bile salt malabsorption - try googling that and see if the results don't either confuse or frighten you).

From there, I went downtown and swam through molasses. By this, I mean that all of my muscles refused to cooperate and I trudged all the way to Safeway and nearly collapsed when I got there. I put in the prescription for my painkillers, and waited. While waiting, I talked to my mom, who was in a foul mood. This is unfortunate, because I was feeling quite out of sorts at the time and kind of needed a friendly voice, not someone who would yell at me. I mean, she didn't exactly yell, but she didn't quite tone down the irritation in her voice either. I tried not to take it personally, mostly because I was too damn exhausted to take anything any way. I picked up the painkillers, as well as my refills of various medications to take to Europe, and trudged to the bus stop. I took the bus up Robson, because there was no way in hell I was going to be able to make it all the way back up, without booking in at a hotel along the way. Which wouldn't have mattered, because they're all at the top of the damn hill anyway.

I spent a good 5 hours in Starbucks, where I don't particularly remember doing anything productive. I spent a lot of time looking up bile salt malabsorption, the rest trying not to fall asleep, and the last couple of hours realizing that the reason I felt like I was swimming through molasses was because I *was* swimming through molasses - in the sense that I hadn't had any coffee, not that Starbucks suddenly had a molasses-related flood, which actually might have brightened my day somewhat. I did end up having coffee and feeling the better for it.

I trekked off to Chapters to pick up some well-deserved Terry Pratchett books, and started walking in the vague direction of the theatre to meet Ruy. I got all the way to Robson and Seymour before Ruy called me, asking if I could meet him at Granville. I was tempted to complain about all the backtracking I would have to do. It was a terribly good thing I didn't complain, as Seymour is *one* street past Granville, something I hadn't thought about while talking to Ruy.

We met and made our way to the theatre, where we were seeing Avenue Q. I was terribly excited, because I figured I would never get to see it. We picked up our tickets (and they were *good* tickets), checked our coats and bags, got something to drink, and headed in the direction of where we were sitting.

Can I just say right now that Avenue Q is possibly the best thing ever? I love the Sesame Street parallels. I loved the songs, most of which I already knew from when the recording came out, and surprisingly, so did Ruy. Ruy isn't a big fan of musicals, but even he agreed that it was worth it. Best Groundhog Day present ever!

Speaking of which, does anyone know if the groundhog saw his shadow? I didn't even realize that yesterday *was* Groundhog Day until today when I was looking for e-cards for Mariana's birthday.

We ate before returning home, which was ill-advised and yet delicious. We sang "It's Over" on the bus, all the way home, much to the chagrin of our fellow passengers, and possibly the bus driver. I hope they all went home with the song in their heads. I figure we shouldn't have to suffer alone. We finally arrived home and pretty much collapsed into bed.

I woke up this morning with Ruy (surprisingly, as I was going to sleep in), promptly forgot that it was Mariana's birthday (for which I felt enormously bad, because I was leaving, and she thought I'd be around all day, and... yeah), remembered, then felt guilty.

Ruy and I grabbed the bus together, although he left me partway through to catch another bus to work, and I had to wrestle my backpack and duffle on wheels. A very nice lady helped me carry my backpack to the Skytrain station when we got there. Also, I was tremendously confused, because they don't actually mention that the stop is the Skytrain station, just "N. Grandview Hwy," which isn't terribly helpful. I caught the Skytrain almost immediately, made my way to Lougheed Mall, waited for my dad, and went home. Well, went home after coffee and grocery shopping, anyway.

Upon finally arriving home, I got to see the cats for the first time in just under a week. Tessa demanded cuddles, and I could hear Pegasus demanding cuddles in the other room, as if she could hear Tessa's fur being stroked. After a good, long cuddle with Tessa, I went to pick my little rift in time and space, who was mostly happy to see me. Upon seeing each other (despite spending all week together), the two immediately launched into a small brawl, done as if especially for my arrival. I took a nap this afternoon, after sending some e-cards to Mariana from me, my parents, the cats and Hopper. I woke up to my mom stressing out about work, from a dream about (possibly) Jack the Ripper losing his contact lenses and I DON'T EVEN KNOW.

Mashed potatoes and chocolate milk for dinner, and so far I haven't thrown anything up.

Why do I feel like I can hear cicadas? This is neither the season, nor the area. I mean, really.

Word Count: 1202
Word Count to Date: 26537
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And now, a list!

1. I'm afraid to look up books about Tesla, because I'm scared there won't be any. And then I really *will* have to write his biography. Quick, someone sum up my knowledge of Tesla! He's a vampire. No, wait. He decoded the Enigma machine? But I hear it was only lightly encrypted. Greatest electrical engineer who ever lived or GREATEST electrical engineer who ever lived? Helen...Magnus. This isn't going anywhere. And it isn't going anywhere VERY QUICKLY.

2. I have just awful coffee breath. It's unpleasant. I mean, I don't much care what the people around me think. I would just like the aftertaste to get up and walk away. Out the door and down the street.

3. There are times when I think writing Wonder Woman fanfiction would be just the best thing ever. Often, these are times when I should be doing ANYTHING other than writing fanfiction. And how much history would I need to learn to do it justice?

4. If I couldn't write Wonder Woman, I'd take the Justice League. Which doesn't solve my problem, per se. The question is whether I should *read* JLA fanfic before writing my own.

5. "Wonder Woman went to bed with Wasp from The Avengers." NO BRAIN SHUT UP.

6. I'm concerned about Tesla.
[11-02-01 11:38:04] Rin/CJ: Can just anyone write a biography?
[11-02-01 11:38:13] Rin/CJ: I have to contact his people?
[11-02-01 11:38:17] Rin/CJ: Does he have people?
[11-02-01 11:38:23] Ruy Asan: i am positive there are several biographies of tesla
[11-02-01 11:38:24] Rin/CJ: I don't mean Serbians.
[11-02-01 11:38:24] Ruy Asan: several
[11-02-01 11:38:26] Ruy Asan: many several
[11-02-01 11:38:30] Rin/CJ: That's good.
[11-02-01 11:38:36] Rin/CJ: I hope they have one at Chapters.
[11-02-01 11:38:55] Rin/CJ: A biography, I mean, not a Serbian.
[11-02-01 11:39:34] Rin/CJ: I mean, they could have several Serbians at Chapters, but they're not who I'm looking for.
[11-02-01 11:39:37] Rin/CJ: Fuck you, coffee.
[11-02-01 11:39:55] Ruy Asan: there are like 28 at this chapters
[11-02-01 11:40:01] Ruy Asan: the one by you i mean
[11-02-01 11:40:06] Rin/CJ: Serbians?
[11-02-01 11:40:12] Ruy Asan: biographies of tesla

7. Dude. I'm going to be so educated by the end of this book.

8. People are going to come to me, and be like, "Tell me everything you know about Tesla." And I'll be like, "Well, firstly, he's a vampire. CRAP. I mean, he was an electrical engineer."

9. I miss my cats.

10. Tell me again why we didn't name Pegasus "Tesla"?

11. I'm well aware that the punctuation goes inside the quotation marks. I just think it looks funny to put a question mark next to the part that isn't a question. Tesla isn't a question, it's a name. I need to go look up grammar rules.

12. It should not take three hours to attend a psychiatrist appointment, buy a book, and grab lunch. Especially if leaving the city isn't even involved.

13. I about want to fall over and lie on the floor right about now. Why does my *ear* ache? Of all things? Why ear?

14. Perhaps I'm getting a cold. Curses. I don't want a cold. They generally involve my ears. Even worse are the inner ear viruses. Where I get ear pain and then get dizzy. So far, it's just the ear pain, but I want to rip out my ear right now. If such a thing were possible.

15. I swear that the fact that I just ripped open a new pair of headphones and jammed them in my ears, and the fact that a swarm (two) of small children just took over this immediate area, are not correlated at all.

16. Also, I don't care how many small children want this spot, I am *not* moving. I have feelings too.

17. Random, that little girl's ear also hurts, and she's crying about it. I wonder if I can get away with that. Probably not. No one would comfort me.

18. Seriously. I just want to cry a little.

19. It's over. It's oooooooverrrrrr. I need to stop listening to these two versions in a row.

20. It breaks your heart in two, to know she's been untrue...

21. You won't be seeing rainbows anymore.

22. Seriously, Roy Orbison.

23. Foot has fallen asleep. I hate when that happens. I know my circulation is poor, but seriously, seriously.

24. No, Michael Caine, noooooooooooooooooo. I don't know why you're singing, but please. Don't. *listens anyway*

25. I wish I was watching Leverage. I... really don't know why.

26. And when he gets loud, HE GETS VERY LOUD INDEED.

27. I did end up buying the one biography I could find on Tesla. So, this should make for an informative read. I wonder if they make mention of his vampirism.

28. You know, it occurs to me that the Swedish Chef has never actually spoken any Swedish. That I know of.

29. I like that no one really questions why Parker is emptying these piñatas. I mean, other than the eye-rolling when she gets the candy she wants. Do we figure she brought the piñatas back for the express purpose of getting a bunch of candy? Because that's probably fine. It's an oddly Parker-like thing to do.

30. I simply must stop playing the air cello/violin/viola at Starbucks. For real this time.

31. This thing right here:

32. It surprises me how many of mine zig-zag back and forth between the two columns. I guess that's what you get from being a former colony of one, and situated right next to the other.

33. "In Canada, there are both mom and mum; Canadians often say mum and write mom." IT'S SO TRUE. And I never noticed until I went to a concert in the States with my family, and it was pointed out to us by the people behind us in line. 18 years, it took me to find this out.

34. I actually only looked this up so that I could find out why I insist on spelling it "pyjamas" instead of "pajamas."

35. And now that I've talked about it, I think I'd like some pyjamas. Fluffy ones.

36. Oh, of course, because in Canada, "pajamas" is virtually unknown. And "pyjamas" is British.

37. Is that woodpecker wearing a hat?

Okay, even I will admit that when your list devolves into whether that woodpecker (on Hardison's shirt in Leverage) is wearing a hat, your list should have ended 10 or 15 items ago. Also, my ears are devolving into little black holes of pain. Yay?

Word Count: 1102
Word Count to Date: 25335
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My utter fascination with grocery stores: a treatise that probably won't win the Pullitzer. Still, it's the last topic on the list of 12 (that I can remember, anyway), so let us jump right into it, shall we?

I think it's pretty obvious that I grew up fascinated by grocery stores, because my dad was a produce manager at one (well, actually about six, between two different companies) from the time I was born until he retired in August of 2009 (finally). Kids inevitably grow up picking up bits of knowledge from their parents. Ruy and I's future children will grow up knowing all about computers, and proper grammar. I grew up knowing big medical words (from my mom), and everything there was to know about trees (my dad has a degree in forestry), and fruits and vegetables. I was probably the only happy kid when this one company came out with plush versions of vegetables, and thus, probably the only person you know with two stuffed broccoli *and* a stuffed onion. Because of course you should anthropomorphize your vegetables.

My grocery store fascination goes so far back, that my very first memory (of anything) is of visiting my dad on the Woodward's Food Floor at Park Royal in West Vancouver. Which merged with Safeway in 1987, when he was transferred to his very first Safeway (also in West Van). So, this memory is from before I was 2. Which is unusual in itself.

One of my fondest memories of my dad's work was *everyone* knowing who I was when I was a kid. Especially the store manager, who I believe has still not retired, despite being my dad's age. I should really look into that. I remember running into her a few years ago when my dad and I were visiting Safeways on my birthday (we're odd people, I don't deny that).

Also, in Grade 9, we had to do Take Your Kid to Work Day. I went with my dad, obviously. I remember I got my own name badge, people actually *asked* me things, and I bagged bananas. Also, possibly tomatoes. I remember meeting the floral manager, who it would turn out, would get fired later that year, but take off with all of her merchandise. At least, I think that's how it happened. Huh. I wonder whether I was technically old enough to be working then.

I've pretty much always walked into the backrooms at Safeways like I own the place. I guess it would be sort of awkward to do it right now, since my dad isn't working there anymore, but I did at least do it up until he retired.

My second job was even at a Safeway. It was pretty traumatizing for everyone working there that summer, since we were literally holding on to this huge, huge deli department with about 6 people. It was also memorable. And something I will never, ever do again. Because, boy was I not made to deal with gigantic groups of people.

And that really didn't answer the question of why I'm utterly fascinated by grocery stores. I think the reason boils down to the fact that I feel like I was pretty much raised in one. And I like anthropomorphic vegetables.

Word Count: 544
Word Count to Date: 24233
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Now, back to our delicious flomp of consciousness, with the topics that I picked at random. I'm sincerely hoping that today's subject is things of which I would or would not want to learn the history. Mostly because that's the only one I really remember.


*pauses for a moment*

There's a guy sitting near me at Starbucks and he is either hitting on me, or just criticizing my cottage cheese eating habits. And he looks like Chakotay. Really, Chakotay? This is what you get up to after leaving Voyager?

*composes self*

Crayons. I think I actually own a book about the production of crayons, and maybe I even saw how crayons were produced on Reading Rainbow, but I'd still love to know who invented them, and what the hell they were thinking when they did it. "I know! Let's draw things. WITH WAX!"

Jack the Ripper. I mean, I know the general story, but I would love to sit down and watch a nice documentary on the information they've gathered. I tried reading the book by Patricia Cornwell once, but she's just SO WRONG about everything, or so I've heard from everyone who has ever read it. Anyone who dismisses Montague John Druitt right out of hand, is no friend of mine. Seriously. I want to know how many people he murdered, the main suspects, and other interesting factoids. I can't learn *all* my history from Sanctuary. Unfortunately.

Pickles. I want to know whose idea it was to put cucumbers in brine, and then eat the result. I mean, I get wanting to preserve your vegetables, but pickling? Who even came up with that as a preservation method?

The sewer system. This, I don't want to learn the history of. Really. I'm quite content with the knowledge that we don't just throw our waste out the window anymore, and that's all I ever really want to know. Possibly the only part that fascinates me is the engineering masterpiece that a sewer system would turn out to be. All those pipes. Avoiding fresh water. Oh. Also, while we're on the subject, nobody tell me precisely what a septic tank is, alright? I can live without knowing the fine details. Really.

Another thing I don't want to learn? Why they *ever* thought it was a good idea to test things on animals. That was a little random, but I don't want to know. Because I'd probably want to test things on their great, great, great grandchildren and so on, and see how *they* like it. Wow, that was harsh. But still. Animals are people too.

The brain. I've already learned what I need to know about the brain's history. I'd be content to learn about the brain's future, but I'm sufficiently tired of hearing brain theories. Call it a perk of having been a psychology student.

It's not really a history thing, but more something I'd like to know. What qualifies something as *art*? Not being an artist by any stretch of the imagination, I wouldn't know. I've seen art from different eras, and there's really nothing the *same* about them. I guess you could say the same about fashion, and what makes something trendy, but at least the overall effect of fashion is that everyone is still wearing clothes. WHAT IS ART?

Queens. Both actual reigning queens, and queen consorts. At some point last year, I became utterly fascinated with reading about the love lives of queens in Europe. My sister indulged my queenly fascination by buying me 3 books about starkly different queens for Christmas, which I just want to *eat*. I'm not so fascinated by the current British royal family, despite half of my heritage being English. Except maybe Queen Elizabeth II. I just can't stand what will be the next generation of the monarchy. Sorry, Prince Charles, but your ears, they are too big.

Tesla. I'm genuinely interested in reading a biography of Tesla. Someone has to have written one, right? At some point? I mean, he's the greatest electrical engineer to have ever lived (even if he does say so himself). Someone had to have taken up the torch (electric torch, even) and written about him. Or I will. Then I can be famous as the one who wrote the biography of Nikola Tesla. Also, he and I could agree (he while dead, me while alive), that magnetism is *indeed* electricity's bastard cousin.

Oh, here's another one I never want to learn about. Religion. Watching the people of the world treat each other like crap because of their beliefs is about the stupidest thing I can think of. I am by no means an atheist. I was baptized in the United Church of Canada, a combination of Methodist, Presbyterian, and Congregationalist forms of Christianity. I don't quite follow the traditional Christian "God is an old white male with a long beard" thought, mostly because I don't think God is Gandalf. Or Gandalf is God. Whichever. I'm basically fine with whatever people want to believe, unless it involves killing unnecessarily. But this isn't about what I believe. This is about whoever thought it was a good idea to get people to worship something in the first place. I desperately want to say Goa'ulds. It was Goa'ulds, wasn't it? They invented religion and made people kill each other, didn't they. Fucking System Lords.

...I just looked over at Mariana's bookshelf and noticed that she has a book called "History of Modern Art." I bet if I asked her, she could tell what art is. She also has a book on Strata Management. There's something I could live without knowing.

I could learn the history of computers over and over and over again and never get bored. I guess that's half of the reason why getting a degree in computer science was a good idea. The other was that I learned math I will likely never use in real life. But the important thing is, I will never get bored of learning the history of math and computer science. I may be useless at calculus, but tell me about the history behind it and you've got me hooked for at least forever.

The history of the word processor? Who invented italics? Who thought underlining titles was a good idea? Chocolate chips?

Word Count: 1052
Word Count to Date: 23689
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I think tacos are overrated.


Wait, no I don't. I just can't eat them right now.

Well, the move is complete. The half we had to do now, anyway. Everything is either in storage, or at our respective parental houses/apartments. Hopper is residing at Ruy's mom's apartment, at least for the moment, and Peggles and Tessa are at my parents, settling in like they've always lived there.

I made the executive decision yesterday morning that I would stay until the bitter end, helping to finish the cleaning and moving, instead of having my mom pick me up in the late afternoon. I did it all on the promise that Ruy would buy me underwear and deodorant (all of my clothes and toiletries went home with my parents on Saturday). Which was why I found myself at the Sears at Pacific Centre, getting half-price socks, half-price underwear, and half-price clearance shirts. And then at London Drugs, buying the only deodorant that doesn't make my underarms itch (and it's tea-tree oil scented!), and everything I would need to have the world's greatest shower at the very end of the day at Mariana's. It was during this trek that I discovered that going for long walks when the rest of your body already hurts, does not endear your ankles or already-failing arches to you.

But, I'm skipping ahead. The last I wrote was just before I cleaned the first bathroom. My mom had already given it a cursory wipedown on Saturday, so I didn't need to do any hardcore scrubbing. I think I may have inhaled a few too many fumes, however. Then, floors were vacuumed, Swiffered, and wet-Swiffered, and windows were washed. I hate windows. Another bathroom was scrubbed, and the living room half-finished (it was still half-full of stuff). There wasn't a muscle that didn't ache, and I somehow managed to do all of this on one white mocha, and a vitamin water. I quite literally forgot I needed to eat, and it's not like my stomach reminded me. Considering that it was too busy being yet another muscle that hurt.

When the living room was half-finished, I left to go shopping and to injure my feet, the latter unintentionally. I sped home afterward, and yet *still* Ruy and his dad managed to beat me back to the apartment. The rest of the living room got packed, the moving van loaded, and Ruy's dad sent on his way (with the moving van, to Mariana's). Ruy and I finally lay down on our soon to be tossed rug in the middle of the living room, our backs simultaneously cracking, and very nearly couldn't get back up again. I was so hungry and weird by this time that everything was *hilarious*. But even laughing hurt. Ruy went to pick up food, and I finished the living room. I ate, while he cleaned the rest of the kitchen. The skin on my hands was absolutely *burning* by this point, probably due to all the cleaning stuff, and also the gloves. We took garbage out, we scrubbed walls, and by the time we were coming down with the last of our stuff, the landlord's minion had shown up for the handoff/checkout. Ruy and I brought two last boxes down to the lobby, I slumped in a chair, and we handed off the keys. WE GOT OUR DEPOSIT BACK! WOOOO! ALL OF THAT CLEANING WAS WORTH IT!

We called a taxi, and soon we were on our way to Mariana's. I finally had my long-awaited shower and teeth-brushing, and soon I was in my pyjamas and falling asleep. I then slept for 14 hours. I would have slept for more, but there's always going to bed early tonight.

And now, here I am at our old Starbucks on 10th. Everything still hurts, but the important thing is that I have a green tea latte. Oh, also, we're done, and I have a few days to relax before leaving for Europe. Also, EUROPE!

This week, I have a psychiatrist appointment (really good timing, *after* my 4 meltdowns during the move), a doctor's appointment (MORE PAINKILLERS THANK YOU GOD), and a hair-trimming. I also need to pick up travel insurance for Europe, sleep, play with the cats, and start unpacking at my parents' house. In between naps. Delicious, delicious naps.

Right now, I'd like nothing more than to be lying down again, but I did need to venture into the outside world at some point. Unfortunately for me.

Word Count: 751
Word Count to Date: 22637
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Oh my frigging God.

Somehow, when faced with a bajillion things to pack, you don't realize how much better off you are than when your parents come trumpeting in at the last minute to help you finish. I mean, good God, I get that there's mess. THIS is what I've been dealing with since Day 1. However, the fact that there is garbage everywhere, and Ruy doesn't sort anything, or put anything away, *hence* the garbage everywhere, is not *my* fault. I have been trying my absolute best here. I mean, come the fuck on. The fact that this apartment is even packed is thanks to me.

I get that my mom isn't feeling well, and frankly, neither am I, but could she take her frustration out on someone else, please? I never figured my *dad* would be the calm one when it comes to cleaning out the apartment. He hasn't yelled at me once.

...*Ruy*'s dad, however, is about to disown him. Which, lovely. But do it after the move, okay? Thanks.

Well, it's the next day, also known as moving day, and I *somehow* got enlisted to stay and finish cleaning the apartment, which, what? This was specifically why I did *not* want to stay. Because I would end up doing all the heavy-duty cleaning. And look, here I am, doing the heavy cleaning.

I would never have guessed quite how much I hate cleaning floors, until I was on my hands and knees, cleaning floors. *Why* do the floors need to be scrubbed? Why do the windows need to be cleaned? I'm not even tall enough to reach the top of the windows, and half of the dirt is on the *outside*. Cleaning actual fixtures makes sense. Bathtubs, toilets, hell, even light switches. That kind of cleaning makes sense. *Vacuuming* makes sense (though the spelling of the word really doesn't). This other stuff is just random.

Okay, so two rooms are completely done, windows included (well, the second one doesn't have windows, for which I am quite thankful). Next comes the cleaning of the bathroom, which was sort of half-cleaned yesterday. No hardcore scrubbing, but I do have to put on gloves, which I hate something fierce because they make my hands dry. I have to get *in* a bathtub to clean a shower curtain that was never clean to begin with. I have to clean the toilet for the 47 millionth time. However, I think I might be done hand-scrubbing floors. That's good, right? Right.

Word Count: 419
Word Count to Date: 21886
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Oh my god, and yep, there it is in my Google Reader. July 2009.

Okay, my hatred for dietitians just goes on unfettered. Look, I'm sure it's not something they all learn in dietitian school, but the attitude has got to go. You know, I thought I was over yesterday, with all the suggestions I can't really follow, and the implication that I must *want* to remain sick if I'm not following my doctor's orders. Because, you know, she knew what I was eating when she made the recommendation that I take 4 domperidone per day, regardless of the number of meals, or liquidity of them. Naturally, I didn't actually follow the instructions: I took one with the one or two solid meals I had, and one before bed. What more can you ask of me, specifically?

So, after the lecture, I came home, and set out to follow the 4 pills a day regimen. I took one before I had my Ensure, then a few hours later, I took another before my second Ensure. Of all things in this whole year of crap, Ensure has been my mainstay.. It's been the boat I can cling to in times of solid food letting me down. In other words, it's the one thing that has stayed down, even in times of mortal peril. Other than a few times that it has come up, generally when tomatoes have been involved, it's been the thing I don't puke back up.

Yesterday afternoon? I violently puked up that second Ensure, and then had to have a dizzy, zombie nap in the middle of the afternoon, before going to St. Pauls for my radioactive stomach measuring. Okay, so maybe that was a coincidence. You know, maybe I took the pills too close together? Or my stomach was having an off day?

Today, I had one pill before coffee. Waited slightly more than--

Am I listening to Celine Dion? *checks iTunes* Oh, I'm not. I really need to stop mixing up my French female pop artists, of which I listen to 3.

Waited slightly longer than my alarm indicated to take a second pill, had some yogurt. Felt a little off. Kept it down, but had to take a nap and a huge sigh of relief when my sister texted me later to ask if I was still feeling up to going to see a movie tonight, because she wasn't. I commiserated. My stomach hurt, so I figured it was time for another pill and another meal. Ensure. Wait for it, wait for it... Up comes the Ensure.

I haven't eaten anything since, although I've had a lot of water. I've tried to nap, since Ruy isn't home yet. Keyword here being *tried*. I could not get comfortable. Because not only did my stomach hurt, but also every *other* sector of my abdomen. I'm quite sure there are parts of my intestines seeing action they've never seen before. But seriously, I'm in *pain*. Kind of worse than when it's just my stomach that hurts. I'm acutely aware of the pain, even after taking some Tylenol and a quarter of a Dilaudid, because I'm actually hunched forward in pain.

Now, I looked up domperidone to see if it's an odd side effect, because, of all the drugs I've taken, domperidone has, by far, had one of the weirdest side effects imaginable, which I feel weird even writing about. Go look it up, it's right there in the first or so paragraph on Wikipedia.

Right, then I see that, *apparently*, domperidone is used not only as a motility agent, but as antinauseant and an antiemetic. In English, it's supposed to stop, or the very least, help, nausea and vomiting.

*falls on the floor laughing*

I mean, what? Seriously? Because not only has it not stopped it in the past? It's actually making the whole nausea and vomiting thing *worse* with the increase in dose.

...oh, Thea Gilmore, have my musical babies.

So, I don't even know who to blame here. I just know that I'm feeling pretty damn awful. I'd rather not blame my gastroenterologist, because she's been absolutely wonderful about getting me in for all of these tests. So, since I already have that hate-on for dietitians and their ilk, I think I'll just blame her.

Word Count: 719
Word Count to Date: 21367
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This feels like an opportunity to make a list. I don't need to be home for roughly another hour, and I am still slightly less than 6K behind.

1. Starbucks is the perfect place to whip out receipts and start doing your finances. Ignore the odd looks you're sure to get. Because you *will* get them.

2. I actually wore *matching* socks today. This is nothing short of amazing. I generally grab two relatively coordinating socks and wear them. Today I actually found a pair that were... paired.

3. We move this weekend. The apartment is kind of mostly packed, I guess. It still needs to have more packing done, and needs to be cleaned, badly. The number of days in which we could theoretically do this, and the number of days we have left are not even a little bit the same.

4. I wonder if the alarm I never turned off this morning on my phone is still going off, or whether it just eventually got tired, and shut up.

5. *looks at phone* It's like it never went off at all. Wow. Go you, phone. That'll show me.

6. It's never not a good day to listen to Roy Orbison.

7. Okay, maybe it's not a good day to listen to Roy Orbison.

8. It is *never* a good day to listen to the same song sung by Michael Caine. I think I'm traumatized.

9. It's Over. That's the song. Listen to Roy Orbison, then listen to Michael Caine, and then whimper. Because that's what I'm doing. At Starbucks, even.

10. How did I manage not to put my dentist bill into my finances last time? Really. How?

11. Muppet versions of songs absolutely OWN any other version of songs. Luckily, they never did It's Over. Fucking traumatizing.

12. I just realized that London Drugs overcharged me by 10 bucks yesterday, while I was being a zombie. That sucks. There's not much I can do about it, either. Those fuckers.


14. Songs about lemon trees are not particularly conducive to being constructive.

15. Who even said I wanted to listen to a playlist of my favourited videos on Youtube? Youtube? Did not even ask you.

16. Kitties are not impressed by cupcakes:

17. Nikola Tesla had a cat. The things I learn. Also, Jesus, Tesla, stop showing up everywhere.

18. I don't actually want to go home and sit in the boxes. I want to stay at Starbucks. Unfortunately, someone has to pack my stuff to go home on Saturday. That someone is me.

19. So many great accomplishments were accomplished today. I wrote, I had coffee, and I caught up on my finances. Of course, then my foot fell asleep. Come *on*, foot, we have to walk home. I'd like to be able to get up and not immediately fall over, if that's kosher with you.

20. Ruy had a dream last night that we had three cats and a panther.

Word Count: 500
Word Count to Date: 20648
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Yeah, I've been caffeinated. Caffeinated and it's only just before 09:30 in the morning. Some pros to having Ruy go to work on time are that we can have coffee together, *and* I get up at a reasonable time (I don't know why I kept typing that as "treasonable time." It's not that early).

Somebody in Starbucks just mentioned the word nutritionist, and I kind up and glared in their general direction. *facepalm* Just because I hate nutritionists, dietitians, and nutritional counsellors, doesn't mean I can glare at innocent patrons at Starbucks. I should really save that for when they misuse the word "gay."

Right, so I'm up at a reasonable time, I have coffee, I have at least 3 hours at Starbucks, with the--fuck, I was supposed to take a pill to help with the digestion before I left--ability to write something that might be construed as constructive.

Oh for the love of--

Somebody Bad Romance'd Helen and Nikola. I have a *serious* weakness for that song, and everybody (okay, maybe just Ruy) knows I fell the hell in love with it just after starting to watch Lie to Me, which... I can't explain the correlation. Still. I've been reading all kinds of The Five-era The Five fics, thanks to a girl from my CSI/YTDaW days who just discovered Sanctuary. I heart them all so much, it's silly. I mean, coming from someone who has the biggest crush on *JACK THE RIPPER*, I... have taste?

The point is, at some indeterminable time, I really fell for Nikola Tesla/Jonathon Young. I can't call it a girl!crush, because he's not female, can't call it a boy!crush, because *I* am not male, and there's the 90+% of me that is so very gay. That leaves 10%, but I have a *type* of man I crush on, and Jonathon Young really doesn't fit it. He's not in the age range I prefer, he's not a bajillion feet tall, and aside from the similarities of not currently being a vampire, he's not Ruy.

That's great. Tesla is an enigma. Mmph, but *what* an enigma. Shut up, self. This is not an entry about Tesla. It's about caffeination. Okay, it's not about that either, but I can still salvage this somehow in the next 700 words.

Which reminds me, when did Tesla find the time to read the Harry Potter books? I mean, never mind why on Earth *Helen* would also be reading them. Except they kind of strike everyone, and considering that Ashley was roughly my age, I can totally see her picking them up just after Grade 7(ish) to give her something to do between, you know, shooting stuff, or whatever it is Ashley was doing when she was 13. I'm pretty sure Helen has read just about everything and if Ashley (and maybe Henry - they really *do* kind of strike everyone) were reading them, she would probably pick them up as well. Kind of as a "What *is* this phenomenon that's striking the world? Ashley refused to come out and help me capture the telepathic squid, because she wanted to finish this 'Chamber of Secrets' nonsense," thing, and then, like most other people, really couldn't put them down.

...this fic is writing itself, I swear. Throw in a kitten, and it's pretty much trademark me.

Oh, no, I *totally* know who started this. It was the Big Guy. He whacked Henry upside the head, and encouraged him to read them. Henry recommended them to Ashley, and *then* Helen picked up on it after the telepathic squid incident.

Which doesn't explain Tesla. Tesla, like I said, the enigma.

Oh my God, Jonathon Young has acted with Bard on the Beach. I feel like I totally *know* this. I wonder if he was ever in a play I watched. That would just be wicked.


Did anyone else know this? That's so horrible. And if you look at that picture, *damn* did she look like her dad. How could anyone get past this? Especially since it happened not that long ago. Also, part of me thinks I remember hearing about this on the news back in the summer of 2009. Gah.

Okay, wow, that kind of brought this whole thing to a screeching halt. This is the problem with a stream of consciousness. You kind of go off on a tangent, then the tangent sort of crashes into a wall, and you need to figure out how to get back on. I actually just looked this up, and at the end of Sleepers, it says "In memory of Azra Young and Phoebe and Fergus Conway." Which I remember seeing when I watched Sleepers before/during TSE, and wondered who they were. I absolutely did not make the connection. Jesus Christ, that is sad.

Ack. How do I even get back on a cheerful topic now?

Well, I'm flipping through Youtube, and I always seem to come back to "I CAN DANCE!" which is possibly the best scene in the history of Sanctuary, sheerly for the WTF factor. I must have it favourited about 4 separate times. Never, *never* fails to bring a smile to my face. Although, watching it does tend to make me want to get up and dance, which I'm preeeeetty sure is frowned upon at Starbucks.

I discovered a community on Livejournal for people to post pictures of their cats. It is aptly named kittypix, and was Spotlighted for awhile, which is how I discovered it. I wish I could post pictures of my cats, but Tessa tends to turn out as a blur, due to the colour, length, and general blurriness of her fur, and Pegasus tends to turn out as a black blob, and/or a general rift in time and space.

Still, either Peggles cloned herself, or there is just a breed of cats out there that all does the same thing, in exactly the same way, at the same time. The number of people I've found with Peggles-like kittens, who talk about how their cat likes the bathtub/sidewinds down the hallway and tries to hug the other cat into submission/curls around your neck/sleeps in the sink/jumps in the toilet is *astounding*.

In other news, mmm, Christopher Heyerdahl.

Word Count: 1053
Word Count to Date: 20148
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I didn't actually plan to write anything else today, because I felt so sick earlier. I very nearly couldn't eject myself from the apartment to go the second part of my radioactive stomach measurement. Also, I was late, because now they just make up times for me to be there. That's okay, I showed up, and that's what's important. The point is, in the elevator on the way down, my throat just closed up and I felt unable to breathe. I didn't hyperventilate, I just ceased to ventilate properly. This lasted the entire (zombie!) walk to the hospital, through the test, and until I took an Ativan in the hall after the test. Since the Ativan helped, I can only assume that the breathing problems were anxiety-related and manifesting themselves in new and fantastic ways.

...I'm sorry, I just realized that my iTunes has switched to a song (a one-hit wonder, even) by some people named Shanks and Bigfoot. That nearly made me choke on my own spit. It wasn't even a very good one-hit wonder, either. Shame on you, Shanks and Bigfoot.

Ruy is cleaning out the pantry, and he's being very loud about it. Half of that stuff, I'm not even sure why we still own, but every time he announces another item, my brain starts trying to type it. I think that's probably a sign that Ruy is either finished, or I really shouldn't type and listen at the same time.

Oh. Well, he's turned off the lights and walked out. I think that's the signal that he's finished. Or giving up.

Word Count: 265
Word Count to Date: 19095
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Uh, anyone remember what the next topic was? I hope it wasn't moving. I'm so very tired of thinking about moving. I literally reached the point where I can't even think about packing anymore, or stuff starts to come out of my ears. I was cleaning and packing the kitchen and I just started feeling absolutely uncontrollably nauseated. It ain't hunger, because I'd just finished eating. Er, drinking, I guess. I'm so unbelievably tired. The thought of scrubbing the apartment down to the very last bit makes me want to scream bloody murder.

What has become of my hometown? It was such a nice place, growing up. Now there are homeless people on bicycles stealing your purse, grow ops to the nth degree, possible meth labs, and I'm pretty sure we have gang activity as well.

Oh, Port Coquitlam, hometown of Terry Fox, what became of you? What happened to your pretty flowers? The children playing in the forests? The relative safety?

Well, I'd say it all started when Willie Pickton started murdering prostitutes and feeding them to his pigs, on his farm, back in the 70s. I'd say that, but that was only just discovered in the last, oh, 10 years or so. My mom says it's because the remand centre built near downtown. She's probably right. That doesn't explain the increasing drug activity, or the gangs, however. I don't get it. It's an odd sensation to feel safer walking in the middle of downtown Vancouver late at night, than PoCo during the day. That's certainly curious.

Those are essentially my thoughts on what has become of my hometown. I really should have stuck with moving. I mean, writing about moving. I don't want to take a nap right now, I don't want to take a nap right now, I don't want to take a nap right now. I so want to take a nap right now. I didn't go to bed until 02:30 last night. Woke up at 07:00 to go to the *stupid* dietitian, which is another thing I steadfastly refuse to discuss, because right now I just hate everything, *especially* dietitians, and I can't even sleep the day away because I have to go have my radioactive stomach checked at 16:00. My brain is such complete sludge right now, that I can barely think. And any thought that I do have, is currently tied up in the whole moving debacle this weekend. Which, again with the screaming.

Word Count: 411
Word Count to Date: 18830
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Ha. Okay, so today's topic was *not* actually why Twitter is a fuckshit. That should have been Thursday's. At the very least. Instead, I should be talking about that time Ruy and I went to Tofino, which is a *much* happier story, and *doesn't* cause me unending pain.

So, it all began on a snowy November morning, which, what the fuck, it does not snow in Vancouver (often), and it doesn't snow in November (often)! Nonetheless, it was a fucking freezing late November morning that Ruy and I left for Tofino. We had a ferry reservation that we made with approximately 30 seconds to spare. We started listening to The Colour of Magic by Terry Pratchett. We mutually decided that we would need to listen to each part at least thrice in order to understand just what the hell the man was on about. It was a good morning.

I mean, we took a ferry, planned to eat on said ferry, and ended up eating possibly poisonous pea soup and a banana for breakfast because the... turbulence... weather... something or other, made it so they couldn't prepare any hot meals. Good deal. I think this might have been the beginning of playing iPhone board games together. I distinctly remember winning at the Game of Life.

We got to Victoria, where we were to pick up gluten-free pizza for our trip up the island. Ruy parked in the Empress parking lot, because he "totally knew the way to the pizza place," and "this was actually a shortcut." Even after finding out the real deal, I still say he couldn't find the pizza place with a map and an big pointy arrow.

He led me through the Empress, in a bit of a whirlwind, did *not* stop to let me pee, and we ended up in the Empress' tea room, where they serve afternoon tea. It's quite English, a genuinely romantic kind of setting (I may even have mentioned during our first year of dating, that should he wish to propose some day, this would be the place to do it). I was perplexed, but we were led to a nice sitting area, and Ruy almost immediately got down on one knee and said, and I quote, "Jessica Catherine Drozdiak, will you marry me?" To which I said, thoroughly surprised, "Really?" And then, of course, I said yes. I then remember clinging at him for dear life, crying happy tears, and hearing Pachelbel's Canon in D being played on the piano near us, just for me, which *really* made me cry. We were congratulated by pretty much everyone in the room at the time, we had champagne, tea, and gluten-free food, and I tried to call everyone I knew all at once. I literally had two phones to my ears at once to try to tell both parents at once, until I found out they were in the car together, which made things significantly easier.

I then found out that we would be staying in Victoria for a couple of days, and *then* heading up to Tofino, which was probably for the best, because it was already past 3 in the afternoon, and the weather outside really *was* frightful. We were upgraded to a really nice suite at the Empress (I've always wanted to stay at the Empress, but it's generally too expensive for vacationing purposes). I called Lisa, long-distance and all, so that she would hear about it before everyone else (perks to being the BFF, you see). I think we even actually ended up having pizza for dinner.

I spent a great deal of time staring at my ring. It's a white-gold band, a pearl set in the middle, with two rows of tiny diamonds on either side of the pearl. It's certainly not the typical engagement ring, but the important thing was that it was exactly what *I* wanted.

We wandered around Victoria the next day, ate a lot of pizza, bought Green Lantern shirts, bought luggage, participated in a half-price fudge sale (I... don't even like fudge), had coffee, and bought wool socks. We went to some brisket place for dinner, which about killed me, stomach-wise, and then we became kind of hallucinogenic on the way home, which was outright hilarious.

Before we started the long trek up to Tofino, we bought pizza (and more brisket for those of us who didn't get brisket poisoning), and started our way up. The one highway that goes up-island is really curvy and windy, and I ended up getting carsick just outside of Port Alberni. *shudder* We made it up to the cabin we were staying in, after dark. In one piece, even. The place was huge, and since it was the off-season, relatively inexpensive. We ate dinner and then lounged before going to bed.

I discovered the next morning that the air in Tofino is ridiculously dry, and made it my mission to find some form of moisturizer before my face just flaked right off. We wandered around in the downtown area (Tofino is approximately as big as a postage stamp, and I'm only exaggerating a little - most people come here in the summer, because the surfing is really good. So I've heard). We met a cat just outside our cabin, and I got to cuddle with a strange cat. Which was nice, because I missed Tessa.

We had our own private hot tub, which we went into twice. Once during a nice, brisk afternoon, and the other in the middle of a gigantic windy rain storm, which had to have been at least somewhat dangerous.

I ate a lot of pizza. We went to a restaurant in town for dinner one night, which was delicious, except where I puked in somebody's flowerbed every few paces on the way home, and we had to stop at the corner store and buy an entire jug of water due to my thirst. And moisturizer.

Our last night had the biggest windstorm I've ever been in, and although we were cozy and warm, the power did go out (all over Tofino, as I heard from my parents who were staying 7 kilometres away). It made for one of the most memorable evenings of my life, as I ate cold leftovers from the restaurant, and ill-advised cheesecake, and Ruy made frozen soup by the heat of the gas fireplace. You've never puked, until you've puked by candlelight. Candlelight, which we nearly didn't have, until Ruy called up the landlord and demanded to know where in the *hell* they could possibly be keeping their matches, because they sure weren't anywhere that made sense. We did find a lot of candles, though.

The next day, we packed up early, and headed for home, stopping for a bit in Nanaimo so that I could buy a magazine about cats. I'm pretty sure we showed up early for our ferry, but we got on anyway. I think this was the time we discovered Yahtzee for the iPhone. Much fun was had by all.

The most fascinating thing I discovered while in Tofino was that their general hospital, which is on the water, is shaped like a boat. This amused me greatly.

Word Count: 1204
Word Count to Date: 18419
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Word Count: 415
Word Count to Date: 17215
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