Greg got under the house today and ran cable and ethernet wires. And I finally got around to adding a second layer of fabric to the curtains in our bedroom (because it’s too bright in the mornings, at least on weekends). Yay for being productive!
On two of the curtains, I just added solid dark blue fabric from some old bed sheets. But on the curtain for the side window, I added a pretty, cherry-patterned fabric. All the curtains are reversible, as well. Here’s the new cherry curtain:
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I also finally got around to getting some pictures off my new camera. These are from around the first week of December, I think, when we got the new water heater. It was really warm, and I was looking for the water meter, and found this bush around the side of the house, still in bloom. The flowers look a little dingy, maybe, like they’re on the tail end of their bloom, but I like them.
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Goddamn.
I just FINALLY updated the pets gallery. Six months ago-ish, I mentioned it needing to be updated, but of course I didn’t do it then. Until today, it hadn’t updated since December 2nd of last year.
I’m a slackass. But this shouldn’t come as a surprise.
All this medicine-taking – especially the hardcore antibiotics – is really fucking my stomach up. Boo. Not to put too fine a point on it, I really hope the Immodium comes through for me today.
Dear NBC,
Why you gotta do me like this? You know Penn and Teller are my jam. You know I love them. You know I’d tune in for Penn Jillette reading his grocery list. Shit, you know I’d tune in to watch Teller LOOK at his grocery list. So why you gotta go and put Penn on that Identity bullshit? DAMN. You better not make me end up hating him like what happened with Howie Mandel. Hells yes, I was down with Little Monsters, better believe that. Now he’s just…smarmy. You better leave Mr. Penn the hell alone.
Oh lord. “Marion Jones”? Is she fucking kidding me?
Oh shit! It’s sucking me in!
What is this bullshit with “sealing it in”? Damn. That’s lame. I love me some Penn Jillette and his gravelly voice or I would not be watching this tripe.
Also, while I’m writing hateful letters, let me get this one out:
Dear grrl in my class that I will call Typhoid Mary,
You came in the last damn day of class talking about how you had just been to the doctor’s, and had bronchitis, a sinus infection, and fluid in your ears, and how you had given up on cough drops and were just drinking straight out of the cough syrup bottle. Then your nasty ass COUGHED ON ME!!! Without covering your damn mouth! But you said it was okay, because you’d been to the doctor that morning, and weren’t contagious.
WRONG!
So very, very wrong. You coughed your sputum on my fucking arm, and since you coughed while you were talking and I was sitting right next to you and had turned my head to look at you while you were talking (I was trying to be nice), you also got your shit right in my damn face. And a week and a half later, I’m MISERABLY sick. If it’d come a day earlier, my birthday would’ve been hell. So thanks. I went to the doctor Saturday, and guess what I have? Why, bronchitis, a sinus infection, and fluid in my ears. I had to go BACK to the doctor on Tuesday and get some new damn antibiotics, it was that bad. And these new antibiotics aren’t fucking around either – they are fucking my shit up, and in a bad, bad way. It’s a good thing I’m taking them in the evening, so I can just give up and go to bed after they kick in and take miserable to a whole new level. I had a fever pretty much all fucking weekend. I got upset when it hit 100, because I usually surf around 97.6. You have no idea how much I lost my shit when it got to 102.5, but there were delusions of melting braincells and crying hysterics. I have been so miserable, there were times when I would have traded this bullshit for a gallstone, because at least that crap ends at some point.
Obviously I’m feeling better, since I’m feeling good enough to blog now, but you are on my shitlist. I hope we never run into to each other, because there are going to be words. Especially about how contagion works, and why you better cover your damn mouth when you cough, fool! And god help you if you run into me while I’m still on these gnarly antibiotics and not feeling well, because I’ll probably cough on your ass to illustrate my point. It’s the season for sharing, right, and this bitch holds grudges.
Bleah.
I’m sick. It sucks. It hit the day after my birthday – we were at Carolina Coffee Shop, having dinner with Matt and Brandy and a bunch of peeps, because it was M&B’s last night in town. All of a sudden I was miserable – achy, panicky, puke-y – and had to go home. Thursday I worked a half day. Today, I just stayed home – which means unpaid leave. Boo. But whatever. I slept until noon, got up and ate lunch and took another round of meds, went back to sleep until Greg got home around 5:20ish. Got up, had dinner, another round of meds, and finally got to watch Torchwood. I’m in bed now, actually. (Blogging from bed is kinda sweet – it’d be even better if I didn’t feel like ass.) At this point I’ve been up about three hours, and I think I’m ready for more sleep. If I’m well enough tomorrow, I get to make up a little bit of time at work – the library’s on reduced hours during semesters. (So there’s no way I can make up all the time from yesterday and today, and I’ve got no leave, hence unpaid leave. Again, boo. But it was worth it to stay home today.)
The really shitty thing – I mean, yeah, it’s no fun being achy all over, or sick, but the thing I feel guiltiest about is that I was going to make cookies for the wimmin who wrote my grad school recommendations, and now it’s going to be even later before I get around to that. But I don’t think they want germ-riddled cookies any more than I want to make them. And I’ve been asked for another chemo cap, and I’m holding off on that. I don’t know if knitting can spread germs, but I don’t want to take the chance, especially when I’m coughing all the time and the recipient probably has a compromised immune system (if they’re going through chemo and all). I mean, part of me knows it’s ridiculous to feel guilty about putting cookies and a chemo cap off a couple days, but part of me still feels bad about it. Whatever. It’s time for sick Kathys to go to bed.
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.
I just read a spoiler that “they” are backtracking on the “initial plan to make Zach gay.”
I’m pissed. I was really happy that he was gay and it wasn’t a big issue. Apparently it was such a non-issue that, oops, now he’s not gay anymore! Boo.
*(on Heroes – although if you didn’t immediately know who I was talking about, you need to get with the program)
SQUEE: Claude?
I found that on TWOP’s Heroes spoiler thread – the poster found it on E! Online, obviously. Goody gumdrops! (Apparently the nametag says “Claude.” I can’t tell, though.)
This final paper is a real bear. Damn. I think I’ve got a good grasp on it and where it needs to go, it’s just I can’t say things as simply as I’d like, just because the subject matter kind of requires loftier, more academic-sounding prose. Whatevs. I’m done working on it for tonight. I’m going to turn in with some P.D. James, and work on the paper more later. I think I’ve covered Turner well enough – I just need to finish fleshing out the Ruskin, and then tackle Proust and Woolf. Good deal.
Last night, I was telling Greg how Skeeter woke me up at four the previous morning, horking up a hairball while he sat between my feet on the bed. This is how it always happens – I really ought to know that if Skeeter’s willing to sleep on my side of the bed, instead of Greg’s, it means he’s going to have a hairball. He has yet to sleep on my side without puking. Anyway, when he starts, he makes these “hut-hut” sounds, almost like a quarterback, and I was making these sounds when I was telling Greg, and for some reason Greg was cracking the fuck up. (I think he said it was also that I referred to Skeeter waking me up as “some asshole woke me up.”)
Anyway, so then we got to hear Skeeter scratch in the litter box for about five minutes – another common phenomena, because he apparently has no idea how to cover his shit up. Even though his mother surely knows how, he apparently never learned. And it doesn’t seem to be a dominance issue – I know some cats won’t cover it as an act of expressing their dominance in the household. But Skeeter seems to be genuinely dismayed about the stench (and he is one stinky fucker, let me tell you), and he’ll spend AGES in there, scratching at the walls, at the sides of the litterbox, at the floor – everywhere but the litter – and then he checks on his pile and looks perplexed at why it’s not covered yet, and then he scratches some more.
Anyway, we laughed at how funny Skeeter is, and I decided Skeeter should have his own reality show. Or, reality showlet. Here’s the first fascinating episode: Skeeter fucks with his mom (a favorite pastime).
