Curse You, Aqua Scum!

By which I mean, of course, my sore throat. It appears that I like to take any opportunity I can to quote Finding Nemo.

I have been under self-imposed house-arrest today so I could get over this nasty flu thing before I go see Ira Glass in Seattle tomorrow with my friend Kim. I want to look and feel my best so that Ira will see me all the way up in the third tier (back row) and fall instantly in love with me and leave his probably-perfect wife in New York to be with me. I don't know her, but I don't need to know her to know that I would totally be a better life partner for Ira. I would just listen to him talk all day, every day. And I'd make sure that every time he answered his cell phone he would say, "Hey Podcast Listeners, Ira Glass here." Also, I would insist that he always sit at his desk with a microphone and a cup of coffee. And that he invite all his public radio friends over for dinner. I would be such a good wife.

But I digress. I meant this post to be a list of things I am doing while I home with a stuffy nose, achy arms, bipolar body temperature, and a sore throat so malicious that I swear there is an army of tiny molecular men with jackhammers that drill in unison every time I swallow. So here it is, my Sick List:

1. Watching Bones (and consequently shouting at my computer screen whenever I feel a scene should have unfolded differently than it did. Which is quite often).
2. Finishing The Atlas of Love, the debut novel of one of my favorite professors, Laurie Frankel. I encourage you all to go out and purchase this immediately. One reviewer wrote "Once in a great while, a book is so beautifully written that when you close it, all you can do is sit quietly and hold it to your chest. Laurie Frankel's 'The Atlas of Love' is that book." This is 100% true. It is exactly what I did when I finished the last page, tears still wet on my cheeks.
3. Painting my toenails, though I'm not entirely sure why, since summer seems to be abandoning us and my toes are preparing for their ten-month sneaker hibernation.
4. Lint rolling the cat hair and dandruff off of my comforter just in time for my cat to come back to reclaim her indentation at the foot of my bed. Yes, I'm living a futile existence over here. (This just in: Cat is now asleep right next to my pillow. I sense that we are about to engage in a prolonged battle of wits--Princess Bride style--with her playing Musical Comforter and me cleaning up her messes every time she moves. It's on, Taff. It's so on).
5. Blowing my nose. A lot. Sorry, should I not have shared that?
6. Trying to purge my room of unnecessary clutter. Pro: I always manage to successfully separate the crap from the non-crap. Con: The crap always winds up in piles across my floor. After a few weeks, when I'm sick of having to step around stacks of old papers and clothes that haven't fit since junior high just so I can get to the door, I usually integrate them back into the non-crap. See #4 for note on futility.
7. Drinking soul-numbing, copious amounts of tea. Seriously, at the rate I'm downing this stuff you'd think I was trying to test the capacity of the human stomach.
8. Attempting to translate my journal entries into poems. See #s 4 and 6 for note on futility.
9. Working futilely (hmm, seems to be a theme) on the crossword book I bought for my 15-hour flight home from Melbourne but never really got around to filling out. I was too busy sobbing myself into a stupor while the middle-aged man in the seat next to me regaled me with stories of his own daughter who was off on a church mission in Colorado. I usually appreciate chit-chat with airplane seatmates, but let me tell you that when you're on the verge of an epileptic seizure because you're leaving behind (indefinitely) the best thing that has ever happened to you, you're generally not in the mood for someone else's life story.

I think that's about it. I've blown my nose a few dozen more times since I wrote #5, but other than that I'd say the list remains accurate. I'm off to go down another glass of OJ. "Pumpin' the VC" should be the title of my debut rap album. I'll have to run it by Ice-T.