Wednesday, February 27, 2002

He's going to be okay. After spending the afternoon with him at the hospital, I feel much better. Even though he has to stay overnight and all of tomorrow for more tests because the ones today were inconclusive. But it's nothing too serious and he finally has a room. (He was in the ER for several hours waiting to go up. And there were a lot of people much worse off than him very close by) My dad is impossible to read. I have no idea how he feels about this whole thing. He basically gives off the air that this is no big deal and he sees no reason why he has to stay overnight. I wonder if he feels differently inside?

He's being admitted at least overnight. And I hate crying. I called work to say I won't be in till later, and I cried when I told Jason I was going to the hospital. My mom told me a little over the phone, but not much. Which means she either doesn't know anything, or she doesn't want to tell me over the phone. And I think about last year when my best friend called to tell me she was in a coma and the whole way over there I kept thinking, he's blowing this out of proportion. When we get there, she'll be awake. No. Three days later she was dead. She fucking died. She wasn't even legally able to drink. And a big part of me is really afraid that's going to happen with my dad. And I don't think I can take it. I mean...oh god...nevermind. And there are two people I want to talk to. But he's not answering the phone--which probably means he's asleep--and she's in West Virginia waiting for her aunt to die. I talked to her on the phone just a minute ago and didn't tell her. She has way too damn much to think about right now, and there's no way I was going to tell her at this point. I'm going to meet my mom, and we're going to see my dad. And I still hate crying.

I love my dad.

He doesn't smoke. He doesn't drink. He walks a little over a mile every morning. He eats well. He's not on any medication. He just switched jobs. Which is a big deal because he's been at the bank my whole life. Last night he and my mom went to see some Buddy Holly thing at the Victoria Theatre and they called me on their way home telling me how great it was and that I would like it and that it's a shame I won't be able to see it. My dad loves oldies. And he loves Buddy Holly. He used to DJ weddings and parties and things with his best friend Bill. They had over three thousand records. My dad is so laid back and very cool. What can I say? He's the best.

This morning at 8:25 my mom called me from Kettering Hospital. My dad woke up with chest pain and pain in his arm. He's having tests done right now. His blood pressure was up more than 50 points. He's okay, they're just doing tests. If it was a heart attack, it was minor. Hopefully very little damage was done. Hopefully.

I love my dad.

And I'm really scared right now.

Monday, February 25, 2002

The person upstairs may not be a guy. The other day I was coming home and there was a black woman unlocking the door. I always pictured a skinny white male with scraggly black hair and a dirty beard. But I didn't actually talk to her. I avoid my neighbors. I've lived here over a year, and have no idea who's behind the other three doors. And I'd like to keep it that way. So when I saw this woman entering upstairs, I made sure to avert my eyes so as to make no contact. Just thought you should know. From now on, the situation will be referred to Person Upstairs, or PU. (for short) What has been going on recently? Let's see...Saturday night zha came over and we cooked dinner and watched The Negotiator. Excellent film, btw. At one point, it sounded like she was picking up her furniture and dropping it. And I looked up and said, "Is that really necessary?" Thud. I guess so. This morning at 7, I was awakened once again. She decided to get her bowling ball out and drop it a few times. And last week--this is the thing that started me on the whole PU rampage--she freaked me out with my shower schedule. I got up one day at 8 to take a shower because I had to be in to work early. And I hear the water running. We can't take a shower at the same time because of the hot water. I have to wait. Which makes me late because the way I run my mornings is: get up at the last possible minute. I had to take a warm shower (I like them hot) in five minutes (I like them long), which did not make me happy (eek, my parenthases (how the hell do you spell the plural for "( )"?) sounded sexual--did not intend them to). So the next day I don't have to be into work until 1. Which means I don't need to be in the shower until noon. So I'm getting my towel and washcloth together and I hear her get in. WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING? Is this on purpose? I just want to bathe and go to work. Why can't you hammer things at this time instead of the middle of the night. Take your showers then, lady! OK. I feel better.

P.S. Saturday night I added two and a half garlic cloves to my Kraft Macaroni and Cheese Spirals. And today I'm glad I live alone.

Friday, February 22, 2002

...and...I'm drunk

Thursday, February 21, 2002

Am I dead? No, but I felt like it. Almost back to complete health. Yea! Something exciting happened yesterday. A deaf man came into work. So we signed a little. Which made me wish that my teacher hadn't sucked this quarter, because our communication could have been a whole lot better. But this was the first time I've ever been able to use what I know, so it was very exciting!

Friday, February 15, 2002

I have spent most of this week in bed. It has not been fun. Last night I was up from 3-5:30 coughing and breaking fever. Which means waking up sweating. Not fun. But this morning I was able to taste part of my breakfast for the first time since last Saturday. It's weird to eat food and not taste it at all. And I finally popped my left ear. It had been full of..I don't know...pressure?...for three days. I have surround sound back. What I really want to do is go back to bed for another 4 or five hours. What I really get to do is go to work.

Tuesday, February 12, 2002


I woke up from one of my many naps yesterday (I called off half of my shift and went in at 5) to what I thought was screaming. And this woman went on forever. I thought she was going to hurt herself. I mean, I couldn't even tell if she was taking a breath or not. So I go to the bathroom to hear better (actually, I just had to pee. The only thing I've in-taken the past two and a half days is about three gallons of water and some toast. So I have to pee all the time), and it turns out he's just watching a Praise Jesus channel turned up incredibly loud. I go back to my hermit hole and bury my head under the pillows. And her sermon, or Guiness Book of World Records for talking the longest without inhaling, or whatever it was lasted over a half an hour. If I'd had any strength in me, I'd have yelled for him to turn it down. Or have gone upstairs. "Excuse me, Mr. Person I've Neer Met Before, I live below you. And I'm dying of something that the five-year-old doctor at the clinic decided was the flu (even though I watch ER and am sure it's pneumonia). I understand you love Jesus. And I'm sure Jesus knows that. You don't have to have your tv on loud enough for him to actually hear it. So if it wouldn't be any inconvenience to you, I would love it if you could possibly turn it down a notch or two. Thank you and good night."

Holy crap! Do I feel like a big piece-o-poo. Today is my day off and I've spent most of it in bed. The fever comes and goes. The snot never stops running. The medication makes me feel jittery. And the cough. I apologize to my vocal folds for all of the smacking together. So the past two nights I've taken a hot bath just before bed. It helps break my fever. And my new favorite thing to do is lay in the tub while all the water drains out. First I take the zip loc bag off of the over-spill drain and let the water slowly exit that way. I can feel gravity gently pushing down on me. And my belly goes from being completely submersed, to a tiny island with every breath. Then I remove the large plug. And all of the water is sucked out of the tub. It gets harder to breathe. It tickles my back and my armpits and my knee pits. And the first night, it cracked my back. If you really want to feel the power of gravity, try that little experiment. Then I get out of the tub feeling very tired, very heavy, and very warm. I wrap a towel around my head and go to sleep.

I'm at my parents right now doing laundry. My hope was to go take a water aerobics class today with my mom, but getting my dirty clothes together knocked the wind out of me. I feel like I'm moving in slow motion. I don't know how I'm going to be able to work tomorrow. Everything hurts. So no Chinese New Year Party for me. I think I'll go take a bath.

Monday, February 11, 2002

I, too, have played the MASH game. And these are my results. Thanks, Heather.

"Your husband's name is Joey McIntyre and you have 3 children. You're a stripper who drives to work every day in a blue corvette. It's truly a wonderful life when you consider the countless romantic nights you have spent with Joey McIntyre in your house in Amsterdam."

At the end, it was between stripper and actress. Damn, I was so close.

Sunday, February 10, 2002

I have a few frustrations. So let me vent.

First of all, Friday night I went to see Tosha's show. I was supposed to meet about six of her friends who (or whom, can't remember the rules) I had never met before. One she has always referred to as "hottie c". So she tells them to look for a girl with big boobs. Well, I'm standing in the lobby when Erich walks in (boy I did "Cherry Orchard" with). YEA!! I no longer feel like waiting for Tosha's friends. At that moment, they walk in. Well, a group of six kids my age dressed nice--I figure it's them. They kind of check me out and vice versa, but no one makes any attempt to come over. Plus I'm wearing my jacket, so they really can't tell. They sit down. Erich and I then enter the space and he ends up picking the row right in front of them. Fine. So I take my jacket off. And I hear, "whoa, holy shit" and other comments like that from this "hottie c" person who I already did not like because of his web page. He just seems like a punk who says LOL way too damn much. And now he's having a spaz attack behind me. So the girl directly behind me leans forward to make eye contact with this guy (I can see it out of the corner of mine), and she whispers, "What? Are they? I can't see anything." And he says yes and a few other things. It is at this moment that I want to turn around and say, "Helloooo, I am sitting directly in front of you. I can hear every word you are saying." But I don't. And so that makes me like him even less. Why do people act like four-year-olds? Blechk. And he's not all that hot. To me. Tosha and I have very different taste in boys. She thinks this guy is a hottie, and I prefer Foxy Boy. I like the dark Italian types.

Next topic. How pathetic am I? Let me tell ya. So, Lorianne is having a dinner party Tuesday night. I don't really want to go. I have that damn sickness again. P.S. Went to Urgent Care tonight because I'm not going to dick around with it anymore and end up with pneumonia. I paid $25 for the doctor to pretty much tell me that Nyquil (which I have in my linen closet at the moment) will take care of it. Good god. At least test me for mono or something. I have a fever for cryin' out loud. It's hard for me to breathe. Don't tell me that's the flu. I watch ER, dammit. OK, back to our regularly scheduled program. So I'm not really feeling up to a dinner party. Especially not one with an Asian theme (it's for the Chinese New Year--Lorianne is not Chinese. Actually, I'm pretty sure she's Greek). I don't have the time or the money to make an Asian dish. Or I could bring a bottle of wine. I don't drink wine. Or beer. I'm not going to bring something to a party that I myself am not going to consume. And, again, I'm sick. I don't really feel like being around people at the moment. It was hard enough to go to work. I really shouldn't have, but I feel like a shmuck for calling off. In my entire working career, I've called off work three times. In eight years. One because I was vomiting so much I couldn't leave the bathroom. One because a guy was trying to jump off an overpass into traffic and they closed the highway, then almost all of downtown because of road rage (so there was absolutely no possibly way I could get to Cinci), and one because Rebecca was in a coma. So I never call off. And the last thing I want to do is go to work tomorrow. I just want to lay in bed all day and get better. Maybe I'll feel different in the morning. I hope so. Being sick sucks. So what the hell does all of this have to do with my patheticness? LA's roommate is good friends with Foxy Boy, so there is a small chance that he may be there. So that makes me kind of want to go. AAHHH!!! What is the deal!?! Who knows? Just let me lead my sad little life.

And the last thing on my list. zha sent a lot of people this puzzle. I read it and we discussed it. During our conversation we (or maybe it was me and he doesn't agree with me, but if I'm remembering our conversation correctly, he does) decided that the only people who choose A and B don't understand the question or don't want one million dollars. And then these "philosophers" brought up the question of free will. Free will doesn't even play into the situation at all. This being is not making the choice for you. It is only guessing what you might do, and it happens to be very accurate. So your own free will doesn't play into the situation at all. Which makes that whole section completely irrelevant. Am I wrong? Do you disagree? Please, let me know.

OK, I'm done. I'm going to take my medicine and hope that I magically feel completely better in the morning.

Sunday, February 03, 2002

The streets and driveways are peppered with SuperBowl cars. I wonder if there is any other day of the year where more beer is consumed? Nothing comes to mind. I, however, could care less about a stupid football game and it's dumb outcome. Watched Circle of Friends instead, waiting for my clothes to dry.

I don't pay for heat in my apartment. Therefore, the complex regulates it. I don't even have a thermostat to tell me how hot it is. But when the lizards start hanging out by the fridge and the cacti complain, you know it's a tad warm. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy the heat. I tend to always be cold, so most of the time it's great in here. But really, people, is it absolutely necessary for it to currently be 451 degrees F? I'm losing my books.

Some days I'm glad I don't own a full length mirror.