The Good, the Bad, and the Shitty

Why yes, I do regularly go through my movie collection and make poop puns out of the titles. It takes a lot of time and effort, which explains why I haven’t posted since April.

In actuality, this year is turning out kind of shitty. My mom got diagnosed with breast cancer early in the year; my dad is still recovering from his cancer surgery from last year (so technically I suppose that doesn’t count, since last year was in its own special category of Shit In A Bag); I still haven’t landed a nearby librarian job, and there have been damn few available in a two-hour radius from our present city (our present city has nothing available either, awesomely enough); at my work, we found out that layoffs are probably imminent; I’m still living in Texas (cue any number of comments – ha, from all the Asian porn spammers who comment here, hahahah – telling me to GTFO if I don’t like the Best State in the Union. Would that I could, guys, would that I could. Thanks for the tip, though!); and finally, I’ve been having one bizarre illness after the other.

Some good has come out of this Wallach-worthy pile: in May I got to go home and have a lengthy visit with my family. I still have a job, one that pays me an okay amount and health benefits for desk work. It’s hard to knock that. A. and I moved to a new, nicer apartment in a quieter neighborhood. We have a teeny yard! And an upstairs! A real home at last! I also found a primary care doctor who is hilarious, and knows my gastro personally – what a happy coincidence. And finally, A. and I got an amazing mutt from the local animal shelter.

So there is some Clint mixed in with the Eli. I can take that.

Everyone knows Eli’s the best, anyway.

Most of these things I can’t control. So I’ll pick on the least important and most personal one, since the others are hard to discuss.

Texas! My personal feelings aside, it’s been interesting so far living here. I’m a northern girl by nature, and my blood likes the cold. I like the feel of sharp, freezing wind against my face, I like wearing windbreakers and hoodies and scarves in the fall, I like bundling into a heavy wool coat and boots in the winter, and I love breaking out the rain boots for the spring. (I also like seasons. Go figure.) I don’t know whether my northern heritage makes me more susceptible to certain bacteria or viruses down here; it’s possible. More possible, I think, is that the winter up north knocks out a lot of stuff, whereas down here it thrives.


After I visited my folks at the end of May, I flew back to TX with A. and we began packing up to move. We took a load of stuff over to the new place, and then returned to the old crappy apartment to make dinner and watch Larry David die and go to heaven.

“Wow,” I said as I chopped up veggies for burritos. (Note: I was chopping a lot of stuff. There was a lot of knife slicing and cutting and banging going on.) “It’s really hot in here. I should have a beer.”

“Or some water,” A. suggested.

So I had water and a beer, and by the time I finished the beer I had to kneel down on the kitchen floor because my legs were very, very shaky.

“Maybe I have to go to the bathroom!” I said.

A. suggested that, instead, we take my temperature. I had a fever of 101. So I drank a lot of fluids, went to urgent care and got misdiagnosed with Random Viral Syndrome (also known as doctor slang for “ha ha, just fucking with you!”, drank more fluids, dreamed that I was burning in hell for all the bad things I’ve done, realized that there was a giant spreading purplish-red mark on the back of my leg, went back to urgent care with a temp of 103, and got properly diagnosed with cellulitis.

Cellu-fricking-litis. Which I have never heard of outside of hospitals (aka infections for those who are around sick people all the time, aka a breeding ground for germs germs germs), and the urgent care Doc no. 2 assured me, “Oh no, it’s all over the place down here. People get it in locker rooms, public showers, places like that.” (Aaaand overnight I turned into Bob Wiley.) They shot me full of antibiotics and gave me sulfa drugs and a tube of medicinal cream and I got better after about a week.

Then last week, I found little dry-patchy sores under my arms. Slowly, they’ve spread to my belly, my back, and my legs. So I went to see Hilarious Primary Care Physician, who said, “It’s a fungal infection!” and gave me a scripp for another cream. The cream is turning the patchy spots white and crusty, which I hope is evidence of their little fungus-y death throes as they rot, rot, rot. Die, fungal parasites!

Naturally, all these little illnesses are stellar for A.’s and my marital relations. Luckily, he doesn’t read this blog, so he isn’t subjected to my descriptions of them, just the actual physical proof. In sickness and in health, baby! MAHAHAHAHAHAHA

When you look at the rash of horrible ulcerative colitis-related illnesses like skin lesions/sores and liver trouble and more, these don’t stack up. They’re annoyances, momentary mosquitos. I shouldn’t be such a crabass, because there are people who are a lot worse off than I am. Nor should I blame it all on Texas or warm climate in general. But then I wouldn’t have any fun at all.

Up next: comfort foods for the colon-challenged. What to eat when you feel like shit, and you can’t eat shit (aka junk food, jerks) because you’ll shit yourself to death. Coming soon! And by soon, I mean sooner than three months from now. Sheesh.

In other news:

Local PBS is doing a best of the Met thing, and damn if the bullfighter guy from Carmen (it’s the knife fight scene!*) isn’t hot hot hot.

*Opera knife fighting is really freaking funny. Whoa, the lady singing Carmen is also quite a babe.


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