First, a short update before we get to the main event of today's entry:
SWEET JESUS MY HOUSE IS SO CLEAN.
I celebrated Good Friday by going to Ikea with Tara and Neil. In addition to a 50 cent hot dog (mmm...intestinally good), I bought us a great deal of shelving, a tv stand and...a real, honest-to-goodness bedframe. Made of wood. Not on wheels. With a super-secret compartment for "books." Our place now looks like real adult people live in it. The shelving ended up he;ping with the spring cleaning initiative a great deal, ensuring that all our possessions actually have a place to be out away to. I can really tidy, instead of just trying to piler things up as neatly as possible. The housewife with OCD who shares my body is deeply satisfied.
Last Saturday,we built furniture. And Ed and I are still married. That's love. Sunday, after Bacon, we celebrated International Chocolate Bunny Day by playing poker for candy. I had a few neat hands, but had 2nd best way too often and ended up being out quite early. Amy and Craig ended up winning the Grand Prize: a box of Bernard Callebaut choclates. I'd be jealous if its twin wasn't sitting on my nightstand. Fiddy came in late, played for a bit, then settled in with me to watch every single minute of The Ten Commandments. The perfect Easter: bacon, gambling, enough chocolate to kill a bull elephant, and Charleton Heston.
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Anyway, time to get a bit more personal. Before I begin this particular little journey, I will warn you all that one of the great traits I have inherited from my father, other than my blond hair and a streak of crazy, is a healthy appreciation for toilet humour. Farts, in particular, are comedy GOLD. I am related to a man who is a MUSICIAN of farts. His ass is a musical instrument, and HE IS A VIRTUOSO.
Yesterday, I coughed so hard that something bearing a striking resemblance to slightly bloodied ravioli came out of my lungs. On 3 separate occaisions.
I cannot believe how sick I am. I am generally a healthy person. I get migraines, and my eyes suck, but I have a lot of energy an (in addition to a gross sense of humour) have inherited a pretty big case of 'suck it the hell up' from my dad that lets me muscle through most minor physical inconveniences.
I have been coughing -- the dry, rattly cough of a consumptive in a sanatorium -- for a good two months. I am almost embarassed to tell you it took me that long to think about going to the walk-in clinic. I went, and a very nice doctor gave me a puffer. I began puffing.
Since starting on the puffer, by body has gone APESHIT. The cough has progressed from dry to "sweet jesus I think I just coughed up some real, actual alveoli just there." the sheer amount o mucous my body is producing is not even reasonable. I am weak and shaky and everything is so damn hard, and my throat hurts bad enough that swallowing is a rather unpleasant proposition. I am not eating. That alone is enough to sned anyone who knows me into Natalie Terror Alert Level: Red alarm.
I am going back to tha doctor soon to ask if she accidentally gave me the Ebola Virus puffer instead of the Let's Clear Up This Cough Puffer, and to see if the chest x-ray turned up anything particularly interesting. I can only hope that I can drug myself up enough to at least make an appearance at some of the events I HELPED PLAN this week.
Off to fill some kleenex.
...sweet jesus, that loks like uni sushi. I am going to sit down on the floor and weep snotty, snotty tears.