here,

hello.
here i am.

highlights of the week do include trimming nails, and painting them pink as well as watching the kitten eat my ikea curtain. i'm going to come home and find the whole thing on the floor as it's only tacked up into the ceiling and she'll have gnawed her way out of it. i mean i dont want to take away her fun per se but there are limits. and yet how really to limit it... i meant to blog preflu, as now sadly things have turned- so now i'm sitting here on a sunday chewing the mint gum i have left after my 2nd shower of the day, and trying to think of other things besides, yea, i have the @(*$&! flu again. awesome. and i had meant to celebrate the beginning of my 8thwkontheisland.

does this ever happen to anyone- it's friday, you feel some weird tickling crap at the back of your throat, and you lightly cough, and somehow you know it's the inevitable end of you? and the writer of the novel you're in puts the pen to his tongue and nods his head. that's how my friday felt. i was optimistic until around 12ish or so the next day- we'll call it denial- , whenever it was that i was talking to you. i remember laughing and twirling my hair and telling you actual things about my classes and my students, like a normal person who is amused by such things, or relating the more mortifying accidental fling of my underwear off the balcony- the stained defunct pair that shouldn't live but does, as i unfurled my comforter to dry, which also eventually betrayed me when the wind picked up and did the same plummet to the inbtw space of my building and the next. and then after j said to not push it, and i was like, well the museum is close. i lasted about 20min before i stopped to stare at an indoor display of boyguardian grave statues illuminated by these square white and purple blocks of color before i wondered what vomit would like all over them- and since i usually never think of scenarios that involve that, and there were very few people in the building, my eventual humiliating stumble to security where i pass out and they just leave me there like a dying sea mammal unsure of how to save me, seemed a sure thing. so i left mocked by serene music and magpies where i eventually and conspicuously laid myself out on a corner of the small beach where no one sits but only takes pictures by, incurring glances, with my face the only thing uncovered facing the sun, and then stupidly paid $3.5 for a tiny plate of fries and $7 for an awesome ginger/honey/lemon tea- today not to be outdone i paid $8 for a plate of potato wedges coated in wheat and the same $7 tea, thinking that if nothing else, it might save me from all the ill done to my body... after the fact.

and now i'm sitting here and rubbing chapstick on my dry forehead, which is now tingling with menthol from the burtsbees and praying to God i don't wake up worse than before.  and thinking, yea, 2 months! here we go! well nevermind, like all cranky people i need to be put to bed, or out of my misery. i imagine the rest of my time in penance and my hands postured upward in surrender... which isn't so bad as long as nothing goes wrong and i'm in perfect health always.

my love to you over there. in your idyllic wonderland ;) of gardens, forests, and magical instagram pictures... to bruckner who i'm sure when he ever eventually reads this, will find he's entered into the yet another tale of woe set in a bleak manufacturing town of 19th c england, will be over tired if he's even read to this point- my only consoling fact is that i will most likely live another day.

m.
*(cough)