Death on a Biscuit

While I am not 100% sure that I’ll have the mental strength to make it through 4+ years of college, I really am beginning to doubt that I’ll be able to get through it physically.

All of that is a complicated way of saying that I’m sick, again. Yes again, at least this time it’s a different part of me that I want to cut out and sacrifice to the god Apollo, god of healing and medicine. (Only I don’t really think I could live without it.)

Let’s just have a little review of the illnesses I’ve had over the past six months.

December — Which shall forever be known as the time when I really honestly thought that I was going to die and I was perfectly fine with that. The weekend that I couldn’t stand. That night at work when I nearly gave into my natural urge to tell Carolyn to f*ck off. The night when I remember listening to A Prairie Home Companion, but I really cannot remember for the life of me what and who were on the show that night, and I really wanted to do was sleep. That night when I went into the kitchen at four in the morning for a bowl of soup and my sister was still up and trying to make conversation with a sick, tired, and hungry person. (I have to keep reminding myself that it’s not because of that night that I don’t want anything to do with her.) The day when I’d sit in bed and read for ten minutes and that would exhaust me so much that I would have to sleep for the next half hour. And than on Sunday night I got up, got a shower, and headed to tax class, felt just fine. Sometimes it’s feeling like a human again.

And then when I had the flu again in February. I lost all of Friday then, but was pretty much better by Sunday. The worst part was that I had to watch Oliver for about three hours that morning. He was a lot lighter then though.

Then you have the thousands of little colds and coughs that I’ve had on and off this spring. Nothing to really take me out of commission, but enough to just make every moment a lot harder.

And now I’ve got some really dehablitating sore throat. Oh, this is terrible. Swallowing fills me with an unholy sense of dread. Breathing makes me wonder why that really is necessary? I mean, they can come up with fat free cake, but yet they can’t figure out how to keep a human being alive without oxygen. I don’t think they’re trying enough. It may be strep throat, but I don’t know, and I really, really hope not, simply because that would require me to go to a doctor and get an antibiotic. (I think. I had that once when I was like 11, and all I remember is that I was miserable, and that my mother wouldn’t leave me alone.)

So I’m pretty much lazing about the house these days, occasionally drinking some tea and reading a book, thinking fondly about the days when I was able to do things like write books and knit sweaters. Those were good days. And do you remember when I was able to exercise? Oh, I was so thin. I miss being thin. (I’m still pretty thin . . .  as long as I’m standing up.)

Anyway, back before I contracted the plague. (Which I think was, maybe Tuesday?) I became a minister. Yep, you read that right. The Universal Church of Life (as opposed to the Universal Church of Death, which I think I’m closer to today) recognizes me as a minister. Granted, The Universal Church of Life makes Unitarians look conservative, and Lutherans look downright fundamentalist. Seriously, these people’s slogan is “Promoting the Freedom of Religion.” Anyway, I can now preside at marriages, baptisms and funerals. Actually, I have to order a certificate if I want to preform marriages in the state of Ohio. But I can marry residents of Washington State if I want to.

And last night was the last episode of The Office. Let me tell you, that having worked for a crazy person in an office setting, that show couldn’t be more true. I cried and cried though, I just couldn’t help myself. I still can’t really believe that it’s over. I feel like I know the people on it, doesn’t that sound silly? I’m sure it does.

I’ve knit a few rows on Sadie’s sweater. Not much to really speak of, but I did make it to the sleeve. I can’t wait to finish this one off, and move back to the knitting for my favorite person to knit for . . . ME. (Or, when I’m in a certain mood, my mother. She’s just so little, I can’t get over the difference between a 40 inch sweater and a 34 inch one. It’s amazing.

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