Well, now that I mostly have my voice back, I feel like I can manage typing. And don’t tell me that doesn’t make sense because you know perfectly well it makes a world of sense. Just maybe not this world, maybe one of those infinite other parallel worlds where you took a right instead of a left, or your mother never existed, or when it rains, it rains donuts.
Things that happened while I was sick include:
Matt sort of slightly crashed my car — or rather, the clueless pushy Festiva-driving moron with HER INFANT SON in the car crashed into my car, which happened to have Matt in it. S’ok, no one was hurt, and I only have a broken headlight, which my main man at the garage is going to replace with a part from the junkyard. Don. My man. And it was the headlight that had some weird piece of rusting metal trapped inside anyway, so it’s all for the best.
(PS I love it when people drive/cross streets recklessly when they are accompanied by small children. This chick blazed across four lanes of heavy traffic to take a left turn in front of — whoops! — into my car… and there was even a middle lane available soley for the purpose of hanging out while trying to re-enter traffic. ya know, a turning lane. With a small child, in a Festiva, no child seat in sight. She’s just lucky Matt wasn’t driving our behemoth 20-year-old Volvo. The thing is a tank, and there wouldn’t be much left of that Festiva. My other favorite is when people with small children very carefully take the kids’ hands before crossing the street, and then confidently charge into the street without looking for traffic, as if to say “I am armed with children! I therefore have an impenetrable force field surrounding me! HAHAHAHAHA!” Nice try. but looking like you’re being careful and being careful are not the same thing.)
Hurricane Charley totally stood me up. Not that I want to experience the death and destruction of a class 4 hurricane, but a nice hearty gale wouldn’t hurt — coupla downed branches, maybe a nice power outage. I even bought extra batteries and candles, dammit. Ah well, the season for nature’s wrath isn’t over yet.
During the fever dreams I was blessed with while I ran a slight temperature for a few days, amid all the usual bizarre sex dreams sadly interrupted by involuntary muscle twitches, I dreamed I was doing a triathalon. (Probably the only non-sex-related activity my mind could conjure for how sweaty I was…) And I woke up and I said h’m.
H’m I said H’m I will H’m.
Not that it’s anything I can do this year or anything, but perhaps a workable goal for next year. A mini, fakey, “sprint” triathalon, mind you. Not of that iron man bullshit.
Maybe it was just the fever talking, but I’m better now, and I’m still considering it. We all need goals.