Since last Saturday night, I have battled (yes, outright battled) a series of one infection and 2 viruses. I finished a 7-day stint with antibiotics for the infection yesterday. And proceeded to mostly lose my voice (as the 3rd part of my fun).
I almost shed a tear seeing Curtis Granderson in a Yankees uniform.
I came up with 89 different ways to cure the common cold. I think the 89th–baseball, Smartwater, and Jack Kerouac–was the winner….
I still can’t really talk.
60% of the time I have no idea what I’m doing, but I’m usually having a lot of fun. The other 40% of the time, I’ve literally just said “f@$! it” and continued with my insanity.
Every time I hear “TiK ToK,” I wonder if the kids singing along with it know who Mick Jagger is.
I think there’s a message in every single person I meet–even if I only talk to them for 15 seconds.
Yesterday, I reinstated my coffee privileges (addiction). Today, I reinstated my alcohol privileges.
After reading Dylan Thomas into the wee hours of the night last night, I came across this–
“An alcoholic is someone you don’t like who drinks as much as you do” in his bio. I totally agree.
During the Red Sox/Yankees game, I had a bitter rant against: Jorge Posada, Joe Girardi, Alex Rodriguez and Derek Jeter. I’ve missed baseball.
I have realized that I could sit in my apartment for a pretty long time just reading and writing. Well, with a daily walk for air.
My prayer/meditation is ridiculously strong right now.
I need to stop cursing. Really. It’s a little out of control.
I love that the last 6 incoming text messages in my phone are all one-word answers (clearly, all boys–don’t get the wrong idea, I’m related to half of them). And I doubly love that I take that as a cue to shut up. I haven’t been a big sister for 26 years for nothing.
As a service to humanity, my mother helped me devise a list of simple things one must be able to do to be able to converse with me.
I have lived in fear of the sacrilege of my “baby Jesus” comment from last week for the past 6 days. My mother reminded me of how terrified I was of the baby Jesus as a child. She laughed at me. (I’m sorry, but I’m 99% sure that Jesus never wore a cape.)
Dustin Kensrue makes me smile.