So I’m on Day 8 of the Death Plague. Over the past week, I’ve been a mixture of feverish, achy, nauseous, congested and laryngitic. Twice this past week I’ve pushed myself (for my hub’s band‘s gig and for my friend’s birthday) past what I should have. I’m sure that’s not helping my recovery at all. Late nights and Coors Lights are not the remedy, folks.
It is Sunday afternoon, and I have 2 meetings tomorrow, 4 or 5 other tasks to tackle, and who knows how many other fires to put out. So I am on the couch, still in my pajamas, with no intention of showering or changing. It’s 430pm; my guess is bedtime will be Ambien-induced at around 630.
I’ve had a headache on and off for 3 days. Almost a migraine. Everything seems too bright and too loud.
I am a whiny, crabby baby when I’m sick. I hate being non-functional and feeling less-than-okay. I really would like this bullshit to end soon.
Meanwhile, I got my 15-pound sticker from Weight Watchers yesterday. 15 pounds down since the beginning of the year. 20 pounds down total since the wedding. I reached that goal before the one-year anniversary. I’m pretty proud of that, actually. I still have a long way to go. I look in the mirror and I don’t see much of a difference. A little, but not a lot. I’ve still got clothes in smaller sizes that I don’t fit into yet. I’ll get there, though.
WHOA. Flipping channels like I do, I came across a video from the Woodie awards. What the fuck are the Woodie awards anyway? As far as I can tell, it’s some MTV awards show celebrating pretentious, tuneless indie crap. OY VEY. The “performance” I caught was a song called “Dance, Dance, Dance” by Lykke Li. WOW, that is just all sorts of terrible. Oh, look, here’s a video of her performing it with Bon Iver. It’s torturous stuff. Slapping chains against the pavement and kazoos — that’s true MUSIC, true ART, people.
Look, I know that my “taste” in music is somewhat questionable at times. I mean, currently, I’m playing THIS a lot (side note: kind of a bummer that Sia is not actually in the video). So clearly, I’m not a believer in all music being serious and making a statement and shit. But…I am a fan of catchy melodies. Hooks. At the very least, something a bit better than some high-pitched, indecipherable warbling.
And on that note, Ms. Crankypants is going to go watch some Food Network (because, if I can’t eat it while dieting, I might as well watch TV shows about it).