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Thursday, January 22, 2004
Too tired, too sick still, and I had needles stuck in my feet today. I have many foreign substances floating around my body. Some of them I can't spell. One is cortisone (for my feet), another is histex, another is good 'ol ibuprofen. Ughy. More later.
Wednesday, January 21, 2004
The other night, Ian and I were discussing the merits and the disadvantages to having a blog. It's been rather useful to me, only getting me into trouble when I've had too much to drink and a recent heartbreak. In the past, I've avoided writing in my journal when things were bad. Obviously this has not been the case with my blog, and while many things I've written about were gross or embarassing, I'm glad to have had this outlet. I'm sure I would cringe if I went back and read my entries from August, or from whenever I was having particularly icky health issues, and I know I've alienated people who I wish were still my friend. But yet, here I am. Still.
I know I've not been writing, but self-flagellation gets boring even for me. I've not been living some sort of "wrong" life. I'm not sick because I'm not taking care of my soul or anything. Well... okay, maybe I'll lay a little blame on myself for my persistent lack of health. The fact is, things are different around here. The air, the sky, the pollen, the mold, my sleeping hours, my working hours, my friends, my every single day is absolutely, completely different than what I've known, maybe ever. And my body is having a hard time of it. I'm not stressed, not exactly, except for the constant pressure I put on myself to figure out what the hell I'm doing with my life. It's enough to drive my body sick.
I suddenly remembered, in the middle of an evening watching movies and eating dinner with a friend, about a night during Ian's wedding. It may have been the night of the rehearsal dinner, but I'm not completely sure. We went Night Swimming. It was raining, cloudly, and not really warm, and someone had a bottle of scotch, and it was perfect. We were playing Chicken and Ian's good friend Summer kicked my ass. That lady is strong.
By the by, I'm looking for a date to Sean's wedding. Here's what I'm looking for: most important: love my brother Sean. And Jordana. And the rest of my family. Please be funny, courteous, charming but not too much so, a decent dancer, kind, and brilliant. Don't be weird in a bad way. Don't be the kind of guy who: drinks too much and is mean or really stupid, will vote for Bush (DUH!!), or wears pleated pants with any regularity. No major soapboxes either, unless they are well-informed and involve specific facts that bash the current administration (whee! I like this!) Don't be a smart-ass unless it's truly funny. Don't let me take myself too seriously. Watch my intake of vodka gimlets. Do be the guy who wants to shoot a couple extra games of pool when everyone else is winding down for the night.
I best stop. I could go on forever.
Anyone too smarmy or too handsome need not apply. Anyone with the first name Viggo and last name Mortensen is allowed one or two strikes from the above list. Anyone who posesses all the above should fly his butt out to California, or drive if he happens to be close, and let me buy you a cup of coffee. We'll take it from there.
I know I've not been writing, but self-flagellation gets boring even for me. I've not been living some sort of "wrong" life. I'm not sick because I'm not taking care of my soul or anything. Well... okay, maybe I'll lay a little blame on myself for my persistent lack of health. The fact is, things are different around here. The air, the sky, the pollen, the mold, my sleeping hours, my working hours, my friends, my every single day is absolutely, completely different than what I've known, maybe ever. And my body is having a hard time of it. I'm not stressed, not exactly, except for the constant pressure I put on myself to figure out what the hell I'm doing with my life. It's enough to drive my body sick.
I suddenly remembered, in the middle of an evening watching movies and eating dinner with a friend, about a night during Ian's wedding. It may have been the night of the rehearsal dinner, but I'm not completely sure. We went Night Swimming. It was raining, cloudly, and not really warm, and someone had a bottle of scotch, and it was perfect. We were playing Chicken and Ian's good friend Summer kicked my ass. That lady is strong.
By the by, I'm looking for a date to Sean's wedding. Here's what I'm looking for: most important: love my brother Sean. And Jordana. And the rest of my family. Please be funny, courteous, charming but not too much so, a decent dancer, kind, and brilliant. Don't be weird in a bad way. Don't be the kind of guy who: drinks too much and is mean or really stupid, will vote for Bush (DUH!!), or wears pleated pants with any regularity. No major soapboxes either, unless they are well-informed and involve specific facts that bash the current administration (whee! I like this!) Don't be a smart-ass unless it's truly funny. Don't let me take myself too seriously. Watch my intake of vodka gimlets. Do be the guy who wants to shoot a couple extra games of pool when everyone else is winding down for the night.
I best stop. I could go on forever.
Anyone too smarmy or too handsome need not apply. Anyone with the first name Viggo and last name Mortensen is allowed one or two strikes from the above list. Anyone who posesses all the above should fly his butt out to California, or drive if he happens to be close, and let me buy you a cup of coffee. We'll take it from there.
Sunday, January 18, 2004
January 18th, 2004
I mean, is it the 18th? Sometimes it's hard to know.
I've heard that a lot of people get sick when they move to this valley. Something in the air, the pollen or somesuch, or perhaps the lack of pollutants that cause an immune system to completely abandon ship. The thing is, I don't really care that this happens to "everyone", I care that it's happening to me. I'm sick, AGAIN, and I'm totally baffled. How is it possible, this third illness in less that two months. How is it possible that I woke up in the middle of the night, with that all-too-familiar thing in my throat and congestion in my head that is the start of something big and awful?
It seems pretty clear to me. I'm doing something wrong. I don't mean that as a judgment or even a specifically negative thing. I mean it as simple truth. It's not like things are hard here. It's not like I can't get enough sleep or don't have access to great fresh vegetables or can't afford a personal trainer. I can do all three of these things, but I'm clearly not doing them all well enough. I'm not taking full advantage of this wonderful chance I've been given. Oh, no, instead I'm complaining about how boring my job is and how early it gets dark and blah, blah, blah.
Well, now, since I'm at work, I prolly ought to stop this diatribe right now. I'm just really tired of this, and since it seems largely self-imposed, I ought to do something about it.
I mean, is it the 18th? Sometimes it's hard to know.
I've heard that a lot of people get sick when they move to this valley. Something in the air, the pollen or somesuch, or perhaps the lack of pollutants that cause an immune system to completely abandon ship. The thing is, I don't really care that this happens to "everyone", I care that it's happening to me. I'm sick, AGAIN, and I'm totally baffled. How is it possible, this third illness in less that two months. How is it possible that I woke up in the middle of the night, with that all-too-familiar thing in my throat and congestion in my head that is the start of something big and awful?
It seems pretty clear to me. I'm doing something wrong. I don't mean that as a judgment or even a specifically negative thing. I mean it as simple truth. It's not like things are hard here. It's not like I can't get enough sleep or don't have access to great fresh vegetables or can't afford a personal trainer. I can do all three of these things, but I'm clearly not doing them all well enough. I'm not taking full advantage of this wonderful chance I've been given. Oh, no, instead I'm complaining about how boring my job is and how early it gets dark and blah, blah, blah.
Well, now, since I'm at work, I prolly ought to stop this diatribe right now. I'm just really tired of this, and since it seems largely self-imposed, I ought to do something about it.