Apparently, even though it's only 11:38 pm (by my estimation) in New York right now, Raven in NYC (AKA Mark) is already in Thursday, as his HNT pic is already up (and posted on Thursday...) and the bastard read my mind and put up a picture of his ear. This totally derails my plans to do the same. Otherwise I'd be the one being derivitive (and to his credit, he didn't know I was going to post my ear. I've just been sending too many crazy weird flesh vibes lately and he somehow went with his ear...).
Wow. That was almost bitchy. Mark has a really sexy neck and apologizes for his scruff, but his scruff is h-o-t hot. Now I must return to the drawing board.
Finally went to doctor again yesterday as, though flu symptoms abated, cough, fatigue and difficulty breathing continue to be as aggravating and painful as they've been the past six months.
It turns out this whole time I have NOT had bronchitis. I have pneumonia. Pneu-effing-monia. I'm fortunate I'm not dead after six months of such a glaring misdiagnosis.
My new meds have me completely knocked on my keister. I won't be back online until the pneumonia is gone or I'm dead.
Distracts me from my actual problems
Today just sucks, and hard. I guess really it doesn't, I mean it's Friday and work is over for the week and all that jazz, but really it does suck a little.
It all started last night when I went to the movies to see Monster In Law (it was fine, not art but Jane Fonda is great) and grabbed some dinner before it started. I got my favourite Subway sandwich -- roast chicken, old English cheese, olives, jalepenos, pickles and Southwest sauce -- did a little shopping, then bought my popcorn to have during the movie. This morning I woke up feeling - and looking - like the Duff Blimp.
It's terrible really, because it means that either my favourite sandwich, or my love of movie popcorn is the cause of my nasty Duff Blimp Syndrome (medical acronym: 'DBS') that attacks me randomly and with much ferocity. It means that my jeans were too tight and uncomfortable at work, which made me forget that they had been feeling so comfy just days earlier at the height of my Weight Watchers success. The tightness of the jeans, coupled with my lack of weight loss this week, made me feel like a failure and that the whole thing could just go and jam itself. I was sick of feeling left out at work, like I do everyday because of the terrifying amount of junk food they eat constantly.
It was then that I gave in, and had BBQ. They'd thrown on some big BBQ party at work for lunch today, and I set out with the intention of not having anything. I would go home and have a soup and bread roll for very few points. I would just stick at it for a few more days until I saw better results. I would not think about the fact that I was in ALOT of pain, in my front and my back and my insides. But it didn't work.
I don't really think of it as cheating, or quitting the diet. You are free to think that if you must, it does seem pretty justified. But my reasoning is this: if I didn't break out and have something fun to eat today, I would have gone entirely mental and held up a McDonalds, demanding they hand over all their Big Macs as well as the recipe for blowjobs 'Special Sauce'. I think one break out in 2 weeks is reasonable, and it's a mind-boggling improvement on my usual behaviour. Tomorrow I am most definitely back on the proper diet, and no, that's not just something diet-quitters say... you'll see.
Much to my excitement last night I found 'Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind' on DVD for $20... sadly 'Lemony Snicket's A Series of Unfortunate Events' was $36, and I haven't paid that for a DVD since the 'Young Frankenstein' debacle of '04.
My heart broke shortly before 6 on that last day I saw you. I remember the time, because the clock in the kitchen had always run 8 minutes fast, and the long hand had clicked directly upward as I picked up the ringing phone. We hadn't ever bothered to set the clock to the right time, we just lived in our own timezone without question - besides, you said it helped you make it to the station for the citybound 8:14 each morning. Of course, it had occured to me before then that all of the delusions casting shadows over our relationship served you greatly in some way, and like the clock I had chosen to ignore them.
Don't misunderstand me, we had a problems like anyone. We'd fight, yell, slam doors, sleep apart and at the worst of times, ignore each other entirely. But there was the making up, and the safety of knowing each other so completely, and there was always the love. When we met I was just 21 and terrified of the world. You were a little older, nearly 25, and you seemed wiser than I - at least I hoped it was the case. I wasn't even sure I liked you at first. After our first meeting at a party late in summer I remember telling my sister about this guy who was gorgeous, but arrogant and overly impressed with himself. Looking back I wonder how much of my initial instincts were right, given the side of you that came to light later.
When we kept running into each other after that party I took it as a sign that I should give you a chance. Had I known that you'd coerced all that information about me from my friends I doubt we'd have had even one date at all. Although... a girl does like to feel special, and you'd gone to so much effort. I suppose that you would have gotten your way no matter what, as usual. Even now I feel powerless against you, remembering the sound of your voice convincing me that I was wonderful, and that you would always treat me as such. It was the first time I had chosen to listen to the beautiful lies and let the delusions begin.
As it turned out, there were alot of wonderful girls out there needing your attention. There was always flirting, from the time out relationship was only a few months old and for the most part I chose to ignore it. I didn't want to be one of those needy women who can't stand a glance in the wrong direction... well, truth be told I suppose I was just too scared to call you on it. I was enchanted by the confidence I had earlier taken as arrogance, and you did tell me often enough that you loved me. Eventually we fell into a pattern where you would do as you liked and I would let you, having convinced myself that I was indeed a strong, independent woman who didn't feel threatened by the number of very attractive women in your life. It became painfully obvious to me 3 years in that you were having an affair... or affairs. I didn't ask.
There were the whispered phone calls you'd get, as you glanced furtively over your shoulder at me and I'm sure that once I even heard you hiss that you weren't really 'free to talk right now'. How cliche. I was disgusted with myself for sticking around, and for loving you anyway - but not disgusted enough to leave. I was in denial, figuring that if you hadn't left me by that point that you must still love me too and that you couldn't have any real feelings for the xxx women on the other end of the phone. I spent my time alternating between a quiet gloating over the belief that all of your love was reserved for me, and living in fear of a conversation with you that would put an end to it all. "It's over", you would say, or "I've met someone". The worst of all would be "You deserve more than I can give", and I knew for sure it would be just like you to say that. Towards the end we barely spoke at all - I would not give you the opportunity to use any of those lines.
The phone call that ended our relationship did not have any of those cliches, and did not come from you. It was from the hospital, there had been an accident and they were very sorry to have to tell me over the phone. They had done everything they could. You had not made it.
My heart broke that evening, not out of despair or grief, but shame over my own weakness. You were gone and I was relieved.