Sports Addict

I've been pretty bummed this week. For starters, the Minnesota Vikings lost in sort of a heartbreaker on Sunday night. I mean, they kind of deserved to lose since they played hot potato instead of football, but still. I wanted it for Favre. I wanted it for rookie and ex-Gator Percy Harvin. It just wasn't meant to be.

But I was willing to put that behind me because Rafael Nadal was pretty much cruising in the first week of the Australian Open. There were some tense moments, but overall, his play was very close to his pre-stupid-fucking-knee-injury form. Then came Monday night. I went to sleep around 10-10:30pm and woke up at 3:45am to watch his match live from Australia. He was playing Andy Murray in the quarterfinals of the Australian Open, and if it hadn't been a Grand Slam event or had been a less impressive player, I probably would've just slept, like I had every other late-night match. But I was "living in the moment" and decided to do it.

Well, this is what happened. I watched the first set which was intense and really fucking close and Rafa lost. By that time I was feeling slightly nauseous due to sleep situation and also the match. So I dozed a little, woke up midway through second set to watch Rafa lose it again. And even though I know never to give up on Rafa, because he is nothing if not a fighter, it seemed like Andy was playing better overall and it was a done deal. Plus, I was SO.TIR-ED. I closed my computer around 5am and went to dreamland.

Well, more like nightmare land. I dreamed that he had to "retire." This is what they call it when a player must forfeit the remainder of a match because of injury. I woke up relieved that it had been a dream. Then I got to work, checked the score, and lo and behold the stupid-fucking-knee injury was back. He HAD retired, just 3 games into the third set. My stomach sank. Will he ever recover? Will he ever be that same player that won the epic Wimbledon final in 2008?

So I've been bummed. I know it's silly, but I can't help it. I've been waiting for him to make the "comeback," to show everyone that he's still got game, and now he's *this* close, and the knee just won't cooperate. And he's so darn disappointed.

I has a sad, too, Rafa. Let's hug it out. (via Nadal News photo by Ryan Pierse/Getty Images)

So now football season is almost over, the Gators lost the SEC Championship, the Vikings lost the NFC Championship, and my boyfriend can't even finish his quarterfinal match at the Australian Open and will be out for who knows how long. WTF am I supposed to do for sports now? (Because clearly, going without sports is worse than going without food & water.) Tennis is on at random times. Haven't loved basketball since high school-ish. Hockey? Soccer? No clue.

That's when I remembered Winter Olympics! Vancouver 2010 begins in 14 days. Holla! Am hoping to do a daily "recap" or "commentary" or "WTF" or "Did you see ?!" like I did for the 2008 games. . .we'll see how it goes. To get you all as amped as I am for said Olympics, I give you the fabulous Johnny Weir, performing to Lady Gaga's "Poker Face." Love. It.

The Truth of the Matter

Every break-up or ending has that moment. That moment you know in your heart and bones that s/he's not coming back, that you're not going back, that it will not be fixed, that it truly is over. Sometimes you don't even realize you've been holding on to the tiniest of tiny hopes; sometimes you have outwardly longed and prayed for a reversal of events. Either way, the time always comes - sooner or later, but always - when you know.

I think the pscyhologists call it "acceptance" or similar. I call it "reality-smacks-you-in-the-fucking-face-and-forces-you-to-wake-the-fuck-up."

It seems strange, because it feels like a brick in your stomach, but in actuality, you've been waiting for this moment, the final grieving. When you can let go and honestly live again. When you can stop looking backward or forward and be present in the now.

It doesn't mean you will no longer think of the person/place/thing or even that you will never be sad again. But you are now on the way toward true healing because you are viewing the situation as it is, not as you hope or wish it to be. The truth of the matter.

So today, I am sad but also happy because this part is almost over. . .and I'm this close to being me again.

UPDATE: My Deepak Chopra Quote of the Day from Twitter is very apropos. "Today I will commit myself to detachment. I will allow myself and those around me the freedom to be as they are." Deepak Chopra

I miss...

* Australia
* Oreo cookies and milk
* Summer
* Holding his hand
* Traveling
* Roommates that make me laugh and laugh and laugh
* No responsibility
* You. Yes, you.
* Being bad
* Sleeping in
* October Road
* A mouse-free house
* Indian food
* Warm feet (see above, Summer)

Sunrise, Sunset

This summer has been incredible, almost better than I could ask for, really. It has been one fun adventure after another. A smile has been nearly permanently afixed on my face.

Tonight, it is over. Fall is slowly replacing Summer. My heart is becoming heavy with dread as I anticipate colder temperatures and no imminent adventures on the horizon.

I know more good times will come, but they just seem to naturally arise in the summer like no other time of year. I always hate this part, the part where I have to put my summer in a box of memories.

Sure, I should and could have a better attitude about the changing of the seasons. I will probably work on that tomorrow.

Tonight, though, tonight it is over. And I am sad.

I am not dead.

Dear Internets,

I'm alive! Please accept my sincere apologies for the lack of posting lately.  Life has been a little bit difficult the past few weeks making blog motivation scarce.

Good news is that I think I'm turning a corner. Bad news is that after an awesome weekend, I don't have the energy to post more than this note at the moment.

Hopefully all my readers have not abandoned me. Many thanks for your perseverance, loyalty, and understanding.

xoxo,
Nik

Bummer.

I hate to do this to you guys, but I'm not sure I can sleep without venting a little. In the grand scheme of things, my life is fantastic and I have nothing to complain about. I know this.  In my little corner of the world, however, the following things are giving me grief this Sunday evening:

* Rafa loses in 4th round at French Open to giant douchebag named Soderling (actually wrote a much longer post about my coping with this but going to give it a day to marinade and edit then decide whether to publish)

* Bum knee/thigh/ankle? Let's just say bum leg

* Lack of exercise due to bum leg

* Feel fat due to lack of exercise and also, possibly, PMS

* Hopelessness re: how to remedy bum leg. Are there any good doctors here? Can I even afford a doctor, even with insurance, as may not all be covered?

* Hopelessness re: living in awful place where have to worry about presence of good doctors

* Hopelessness re: timeline for leaving awful place

* Boys

* Return to work tomorrow (Although really, given grand scheme of things, should be thankful I even have a job. . .even if they are going to decrease my pay by 7% and can I still afford rent + student loans + exorbitant electric bill + food?)

Gee. I thought this might make me feel better to get this off my shoulders, but in fact, now I just want to cry. Then again, maybe that's what I need to do to feel better?  I hate being a girl. HATE. IT.

Accentuate the Positive

It's been a rough few days. This past weekend was so much fun, and it's always difficult for me to come home to this boring, awful place after good times with great friends. Then, yesterday, I got some bad news on the work front - not about my current job, but about the prospect of moving away. Fortunately, the following things have kept my malaise in check so that I don't downward spiral into full-on can't-get-out-of-bed-drink-all-the-time depression:

* The gym - Post-workout euphoria is almost better than sex, and in this crappy town, definitely safer.

* Masala - I can't decide if it would be better or worse if he knew how to talk, because the thoughts I create for his expressions crack me up and what he's really probably thinking is "eat. sleep. go for walk. sleep. eat. get belly rubbed. sleep."



* Escazu chocolates - I recommend the Beaufort Bar. Get one for yourself, ASAP. You won't be sorry, and it's totally worth the cost. I promise. Would I lie to you?

* Bridget Jones

* Random phone calls from 2 old friends

* Sleep. Lots and lots of sleep, especially way past alarm clock going off. Wait. Is that good or bad?

* LOLCats - my favorite so far this week:


* This week's Goop newsletter - I know, that site is totally cheesy and kind of pretentious, but Gwyneth has good intentions, so I visit it from time to time. This week she asks several "sages" about why humans are inclined to think bad thoughts, how it adversely affects us, and how to keep it in check; she calls it the "evil tongue." An excerpt from one of the answers that I keep coming back to:

When we speak positively and refrain from evil speech, we surround ourselves with more and more positive energy, therefore sustaining our spiritual growth. Conversely, when we speak negatively about others, our words stay with us wherever we go, blocking our happiness. For instance, when we wake up in a bad mood for no apparent reason, Kabbalists explain there is a reason. The energy we created by maligning someone’s character yesterday adversely affects us today.

One's personal thoughts on Kabbalah aside, the heart of this lesson, I think, is very valid and definitely worth putting into practice. It's all about karma, people.

Warning, maybe

About an hour ago I threw my phone waaaayyy across the room, I'd say 20-30 yards of hardwood, where it slammed into my kitchen cabinets. Have not yet collected said phone and put the pieces back together (as have been manically completing tax forms causing phone temper tantrum). Possibly have killed phone completely. Just thought some of you might like to know should you try calling and continuously get sent straight to voicemail. Also, may try checking local jails to see if I have gone on raging crime spree to pay my $1,500 of taxes.

2009 Hates Me

Something is wrong with my car.

Again.

Something is so wrong with my car that I'm worried it won't make it to the shop in the morning...which is almost literally across the street. 

Alls I know is that if this cost anywhere near the $700 I got to spend fixing my car about three weeks ago, I'm turning on the tears. And those cold-hearted car shop people are going give me that shit for free.

Sick Day #2

An improvement from yesterday, except that after puking Gatorade twice last night, I was ordered by my mother at 815AM this morning "YOU ARE NOT to go to work!" So here I am again, couch-bound. It's probably for the best, since before about 30 minutes ago I hadn't eaten anything in over 24 hours. Ahh, sweet Cheerios, please treat me right. My body is still not well, even though mentally I'm a lot more present than yesterday.

It's funny the things that set off nausea. I desperately want to watch tennis, but the sound of the ball and watching it go back and forth does not agree with me. Today I thought would go better, but not so much. Luckily Rafa plays around 9PM, so cross fingers I can take it by then.

Commercials on tv are killer. I have to mute them and turn my head away or else I get super queasy. Even the computer and internet can be a bit much; yesterday I didn't even pick the damn thing up after about 1pm. Although today I checked my email, I still can't stomach the idea of Twitter or FB. In fact, I think to myself, "how could anyone ever stand so many different stimuli?" Of course, yesterday I wondered how anyone could ever eat, like, at all, so....

Having cable would definitely come in handy, but maybe I'll watch some or Bridget Jones' Diary or Love Actually to pass the time. Oooh...or I could check out what Netflix has to offer. Too bad hulu dropped the ball with season 3 of 30 Rock...I think that would be just about perfect.

It's also too bad I'm sick. If I was feeling my best this would be a fucking gold mine of humorous writing. Instead I'm bored and need something to do, so you get this boring fodder. Lucky you!

Sick Day

UGH. I feel worse than I think I ever, ever have before.  Spent 2am-7am alternately lying down on my bathroom floor, puking, and .... Almost like clockwork every half hour or so there would be drama, then calm, then repeat. I have NEVER IN MY LIFE thrown up so many times.  At first I tried to brush my teeth each time, but it got to be a hassle and it was easier to just lay back down. 

I had hoped that once my system had nothing left in it the symptoms would go away. Not so much.  This is worse than the Salmonella, I'm telling you.  I have no idea what it is; possibly food poisoing, possibly the worst virus of all time, possibly I'm pregnant.

HA! Ok. Not possibly I'm pregnant. 

The bad news is that I'm afraid to use the bathroom downstairs because it's clogged up before and I'm not trying to have that happen again. But there's no TV upstairs...so everytime I need to get to the bathroom I've got to climb the stairs, resulting in more ill feelings in my stomach.

The good news is that I get to stay at home and watch tennis all day. Yay! Also, because I'm watching tennis online, I can transport my entertainment up to bed if need be, thus alleviating some of the effort between homebase and bathroom.  (Possible bad news, unsure if anyone good is playing; will have to check schedule.)

Ok. This trauma has now been recorded for posterity. Resume fetal position.

Battle Scars

I count nine separate points of entry.  Nine places the teeth punctured my skin.

I was getting ready to go out, and if you've ever lived with me you know this often includes a fair bit of walking around in my underwear.  I was in and out of the bathroom - drinking water, eating a birthday cookie I had just baked for J, complaining that I had no cute clothes.  About half an hour earlier there had been a mini-meltdown over what to wear on the birthday/St. Patrick's day bar crawl celebration; my line of work has considerably dulled my wardrobe, and I didn't want to be the "old" lady at the pub. 

Masala was roaming around getting into trouble, as he is prone to do.  I coralled him into the bathroom with me while I dried my hair to give J a little respite from saying "No!"  This was my first bad move.  While in the bathroom, Masala discovered the trash can.  Remember when this happened a couple of months ago?  Yeah. I was trying to prevent that. 

I had just finished my makeup and was about to begin putting on actual clothes when J announces, "Nik, he's got something!"  We all know what that "something" was. 

He runs from me as I yell at him to drop it.  He takes cover under the table.

I know it is coming.  This is his M.O. He maneuvers so that I can't get above him, and he has the better ground.  But I have started this, and so I tell myself that I must finish it. Mistake number two.

He growls and snarls when I try to take it from his mouth.  I yell, "NO! NO!" which normally causes him to acquiesce. 

Not this time. He knows he has me beat.  There are a million chairs, and there's no way I am going to get it from him.  I don't want him to "win" this way, though, because it will only encourage the behavior.  I endure, not wanting to let go until he has calmed down. The final mistake.

I'm not sure if he got more aggressive, if my position changed, or if maybe even I was hurting him.  Whatever happened, my left thumb was caught in the crossfire.  I didn't know what it would look like when I ran to the sink to rinse it off.  Would it be attached? Did I lose part of it?

Thank God J was there.  Once I realized my hand was mostly ok and that all digits were accounted for, the tears came harder, the sobbing nearly uncontrollable.  I said we had to go to the hospital. J, being ever practical, brought me a shirt at once. I had completely forgotten my state of undress.

"What am I going to do with him? What am I going to do? I can't keep him."  I repeated over and over in my head and more than once out loud.

J told me to sit down while he rushed to the pharmacy for hydrogen peroxide and bandages.  I tried.  I couldn't sit still. I walked around. I googled "dog bite first aid." I took deep breaths. More and more tears.  I tried sitting on the floor. When J returned I was sitting on an ottoman in the bedroom pressed against the wall, silently crying.

My hand will be fine.  We fixed it up with Band-Aids and Neosporin and determined a trip to the emergency room was probably unnecessary (a trip to the bar, however, was totally required after I composed myself and re-applied makeup).  Today it is swollen and bruised, but it appears that full function will eventually return.

My psyche, on the other hand, is profoundly fucked up by this turn of events.  I don't like being afraid, yet I am.  In the past when he has growled at me I try to regain control as soon as possible afterward by taking something away, just to let myself (and him) know it's ok. Normally, it is. A hundred times a day I take stuff away from him - sticks, plastic, paper, you name it.  He only goes postal when it's an animal product - a stray bone on the sidewalk, a butter wrapper, or yeah, a tampon.  It makes sense...but why? I've never heard of anyone else having this problem. What am I doing wrong? What did I do to make him this way? How do I fix it? What if I can't?  A million and seventeen questions. 

And my heart is broken. That sounds ridiculous. He is my best friend in a town where I relate to almost no one; we cuddle on the couch almost every night. But he hurt me. I know he is an animal, and I have anthropomorphized him, so again, this is my fault. He acted like on animal survival instinct, and if I feel betrayed then that is my problem. But I still don't like being afraid of him. It's weird. It's very, very weird how I feel about him now. 

He has been nearly perfect since it happened. Sitting immediately upon being told. Sleeping the entire drive back. Performing unerringly on our walks.  Yet, I am hesitant. I don't know where to go from here. Surely because he won he will try it again. He will sense my fear, and I'm terrified this is going to become a common struggle. 

I am at a loss. I don't know what to do or how to move forward.  That's why I wrote this post. I needed to sort some of this out, and it seemed too important not to talk about.  But I can't deal with it fully yet, so that's why I've closed the comments. I'm not strong enough to take advice and criticism or weigh all the options. I need rest and recovery and then I'll assess how to respond. For now, I'm just trying to take it moment-to-moment without another confrontation, to let my heart heal as much as I am letting my hand heal. So thanks for reading, if you made it this far in my melodrama. : )

All Good Things Come To An End

I knew it was too good to be true. I had been in an uninterrupted good mood for almost five days straight, which must be some sort of record for me, and it was bound to come to an end sooner or later. I'm always skeptical when I wake up in high spirits, and today proved the rule.

Things that suck about today:

* My one case took two hours in court. It should have taken twenty minutes. Thank you client.

* My oil change turned into a $700 repair. Thank you universe. Did you see my post yesterday about how I need to SAVE MY MONEY FOR AWESOME TRAVEL ADVENTURE??!! Argh.

* My parents felt bad about the car, offered to buy this suit I've been eyeing, I go to Ann Taylor Loft website to purchase it, and they don't have my size. Oh, and the suit is now 30% off, so you know, just rub some salt in the wound a little.

* Masala had another accident - this time only after he'd been running amok in the house for 4 hours because I'd been so frazzled about my car I forgot to put the gate up. No accident for those 4 hours. Put the gate up for 15 mins so I can pee and change clothes for our walk. Little bastard decides he can no longer hold it. (He's been on this allergy medicine that makes him pee and not control it, but STILL. I know he did it just to spite me because I quit giving him that medicine yesterday, plus, see aforementioned 4 hours without accident. Little shit.)

* I got my period like 3 days early as far as I can remember. W.T.F.

* Did not get to go to kickboxing, as I had been looking forward to, due to unavailability of car which is still in the f-ing shop. Trust me, I could really pretend to punch a lot of things right now.

* Lost is a rerun. What am I supposed to do for entertainment tonight? Twiddle my thumbs? Read a book? Laundry? Pssh. No.

All I have to say is thank goodness for Netflix and wine (oh, and if this wine turns out to be a lemon, somebody is getting a beat down), because without these things. . .I don't even want to think about it.

Scenes: 2/16/09

* 8am, Sidewalk - three layers, frozen hands, a happy pup, brisk pace, not a bad start to what should be a relaxed day at work, productive evening

* 9am, Walk-in Closet - standing in front of the mirror, repeatedly turning around and bending over, contemplating whether to wear underwear with these pants, realization that even thinking about not wearing underwear is a sign NOT to wear pants altogether, ignore realization and opt for light blue Hanky Pankys because hatred of all other pants and winter weather trumps rational fashion thinking

* 930am, Front Foyer of Office - jumping and pumping fists in jubilation, Girl Scout cookies are here!

* 145pm, Local Fugly Dress Shop - drowning in teal and hot pink polyester/satin blends, bedazzler overload, the ugliest formal dresses you have ever seen, seriously circa 1994 style, cannot suppress laughter with co-worker and run in a fit of giggles out the door before staff offers to help (*may* have gone into shop specifically for this purpose)

* 155pm, Interior of Magic Car Wash - sitting inside car as the machines lather and rinse, surrounding me with whooshes and waterfalls, sometimes dreams do come true

* 523pm, Yoga Mat - legs lifting, heels beating, glutes burning, damn the Pilates side series and this instructor

* 615pm, Stationary Bike - beads of sweat running down face, last two minutes of spinning class, eyes focused on the orange glow of the stereo power button, breathing like I am in labor, glutes still burning, empowerment

* 705pm, Driver's Seat of Car - sitting in driveway, surrounded by darkness and silence, face in hands, sobbing, sometimes one phone call can do that to a girl

* 750pm, Kitchen - wet hair, fugly comfy sweatshirt, forcing the mixer through the batter, friends need to be thanked for kind gestures, no matter what phone calls bring

* 830pm, Stovetop - warm cookies removed from the oven, chocolate melting on the pan, may be emotional basketcase, but still make near-perfect cookies, damn it.

* 915pm, Dining Room - "Walk it Out" blaring from the iPod dock, cookies nestled on the cooling rack, dancing and bootyshaking, Masala jumping up and down bootyshaking, too!, even phone calls can be overcome

The Salmonella: Day 6 and counting

It's like this: for the most part my symptoms of The Salmonella are vastly improved. As long as I don't eat, I'm fine, I can function like a mostly normal human being. Therein, of course, lies the rub. I am me. I love food. I can't not eat. Not eating makes me grumpy, depressed, dizzy, and downright lazy. Of course, if I eat, all-out war is waged in my digestive track and I'm back to square one - laying on the couch in pain.

Actually, according to the internet, The Salmonella approves of bread products. After 6 days of eating nothing but carbs, I'm over it. Seriously. Unfortunately, every time I try to eat anything not in the realm of bread products, my tummy marches back to battle. I am stuck in a catch-22 - well enough to be hungry for real food but not well enough to eat it. Suh-UCKS.

On this Saturday, after being basically bedridden all day due to pushing my luck with Mexican food last night, I vow to stick to the damn bread-only diet as much as possible until this nasty bacteria is purged from my system once and for all. To wit: thus far today I have eaten 1 piece of wheat toast, some melba toast crackers, and grits - or nothing with any flavor whatsoever.

Tonight in a fit of boredom I struck out of the house in search of new provisions. First stop, CVS to curb an irrational craving for Red Fish, the CVS generic Swedish Fish - while not officially prescribed for The Salmonella, I felt these would be okay (foods that are not okay tend to make me feel queasy upon the thought of putting them in my mouth; this was true of the Mexican but I was in denial about it). I left CVS with the following:

* 1 bag Red Fish (I prefer them to Swedish Fish)
* 1 box Barnum's Animal Crackers (completely consumed before reaching second destination, grocery store)
* 1 bag Stacy's Pita Chips
* 1 roll of Starburst (total impulse buy at the register, most likely not approved for The Salmonella)

Next, I made my way to the grocery store to pick up tater tots, aka dinner. My shopping bag ended up containing the following:

* 1 bag Tater Tots
* 1 bottle Apple Juice
* 2 bags of Barnum's Animal Crackers (to replace the small box I'd already inhaled)
* 1 bag Pretzel Crisps
* 1 carton Butternut Squash Soup
* 1 box Kashi Waffles

If this batch of food goes anything like the last batch, I'll never want to eat any of these items ever again for the rest of my life after this ordeal is over. Blah. Humbug.

I heart Gatorade.

Friday night, circa 8pm:

Phone rings.

"Hey, Dad. . . .Driving to Wilmington. . . .He's with me, sitting in the back, eating peanut butter. . . .Yeah, good point, but I'm pretty sure it's only peanut butter products that have been recalled, not actual jars of peanut of butter. Plus, we've been eating this peanut butter for a few days and I think it's ok. . . .Just started out, should get there by about 1130. . . .Hope you and Mom have a good weekend. Love you, too."

I crank up the radio and grab my Clif bar. Starving. Longish day at work followed by dog walk, the gym, then furious packing and running out the door. Thank God for Clif bars to sustain me and not waste time.

Wait. This is a "Crunchy Peanut Butter" Clif bar. Hmm. Maybe I should call someone, make sure this isn't on the list of recall products.

Nah. Whatevs. This is "organic." I'm sure its fine. I didn't see anything like this last time I checked anyway (so what if that was over a week ago).  Munch. Munch. Mmm.  Heaven.

Circa 1145pm:
I have arrived in Wilmington, changed clothes, and put on make-up.  We are headed out for J's friend's birthday party at a local bar. After the week I've had, many, many drinks will be had.

Yes. This apparently includes a round of shots of Patron.

Circa 2am:
MOTHER F!*$&!!  Glass hit my tooth as I was trying to drink water. Chipped corner of tooth. Not sexy.

Saturday morning, circa 845am:
Masala, please, please sit down and quit licking me. Head pounding. Stomach killing me. Don't you know how it hurts to do tequila shots??!!

Groggily, I stammer toward the door and profess undying gratitude that the house J's living at for the next 6 months has a fenced in yard. This will buy me at least another hour's worth of sleep before he starts barking and must have his walk.

Circa 11am:
Must. Have. Biscuit.  Determined to eat an egg biscuit, I Google Bojangles in Wilmington because they are they only place I can think of that will still serve breakfast.  Ugh. Why did I do those damn tequila shots? On second thought, do I really need a biscuit?

Circa 1pm:
Can no longer breathe. Eye is swollen and red, can barely remove contact lens. J takes me to the Rite Aid for pharmaceuticals. Is this the fault of the tequila or perhaps just the cat?

Circa 430pm:
Laziness is good. Should probably get off the couch soon to walk the dog, then shower for dinner with aunt and uncle at the new-to-me Thai place.  

Circa 730pm:
Mmm. I love Green Curry! The spicier the better. Bring it on!

Decide that my life will remain unfulfilled until I move to a town with Thai food.

Circa 10pm:
Stomach hurts. A LOT.

WTF could have poisoned me at the Thai place? Only ate veggies! Ugh. Am sure I'm going to die. Curl up on couch with Breaking Dawn while J takes a bath.

Get motion sickness just watching Masala walk around the room. Am I still hung over? WTF?

Circa 1130pm:
Must. Sleep. Instruct J not to touch me whatsoever or else vomiting may occur. 

Sunday, Circa 2am, 3am, 430am, etc:
Why is it so hot in here? Why is the room spinning? Why did someone run over my stomach with a truck?

Circa 8am:
Why do I even own a dog? I hate dogs. All they do is pee and take walks when I need to sleep off food poisoning. Damn Thai food.

Circa 9am:
Drag comforter to the couch and beg J to watch Friday Night Lights.

Circa 1030am:
Drag self into shower. Must meet Andi and Pen for lunch. Will not let my girls down no matter how sickly J says I look nor how many times I have to pause while getting ready to crouch in fetal position because my stomach hurts so. freaking. much.

Circa 1130am:
God bless J for agreeing to drive me to lunch. Inhale 2 Ginger Ales, a scone, and some homemade potato chips.  Enjoy company of new and old friends and adorable children. Wonder how anyone who feels as crappy as I do on the inside can still eat so much. Am miraculously cured! Regret this decision mere moments after walking out of restaurant.  It seems I have pushed the envelope too far.

Circa 3pm:
J returns from second visit to Rite Aid in 24 hours with much needed Pepto Bismol and carbonation. Will watch tennis and movies and laze on the couch. All will be fine. "Pause" was invented for these sorts of occasions. 

Situate self on couch in very specific position, all other positions inducing nausea and extreme discomfort.

Circa 6pm:
WHEN WILL THIS MOVIE END?! It has been going on forever. And it's awful.  We decide to take a break and order pizza. Well, J orders pizza. I eat a piece of dry toast.

In the meantime, decide to research more about food poisoning. Discover that my bloody Clif Bar HAS BEEN FUCKING RECALLED after all.

Holy. Shit. It wasn't a hangover or the Thai food.

I have the Salmonella! Call J and beg him to bring me Gatorade, nectar of the gods.  Discover prior attempts at settling the stomach (carbonated beverages and medicine) actually do more harm than good, as bacteria needs to be eliminated from the body asap. Great.

Circa 630pm:
Rationing the Gatorade. It makes me feel alive. ALIVE! Decide I can even eat pizza.

Circa 745pm:
Pizza was very bad idea. Stomach kicking me. If I didn't know better would swear I am pregnant. Will never reproduce.

Monday Morning, circa 8am:
Have slept for the last 10 hours. Delicious.  Stomach has eased somewhat, but requires urgent trip to the rest room.

Feel well enough to take M for a short walk. 

Circa 810am:
Nope. Walking the dog was terrible, no good, very bad idea.  Have zero strength. Stomach hurts everytime I have to pull the leash even a little.  Want to vomit. 

Circa 9am:
J is leaving for work and will be gone for the next 12 or so hours. Technically, I am supposed to be at work.  Call in sick, but decide to make my way home to my own couch and bed, where Masala will be less of a spaz and let me rest in peace. Without motion sickness. Even watching people run on TV makes me nauseous.

Circa 2pm:
Finally arrive home. Have vegetable broth, crackers, and Gatorade.  Sweet, sweet Gatorade. Decide I will probably live, but sleeping and watching more bad TV should come before any attempts to go to work tomorrow. Masala concurs and lays in his spot on the couch. 

Grande Finale - a teaser

The end of my Thanksgiving vacation, the last day of November, and NaBloPoMo ended with something of a bang.

It rained the entire drive from Georgia and it took almost 10 hours to get home. Ugh.  That, however, was nothing compared to what awaited me upon my arrival at home.

I am way too tired and fried to give the story a proper telling right now, but I'll give you this little tidbit: the police came to my house. Yeah. And they saw my dirty underwear, the lacey ones lying in a pile waiting to be handwashed. 

To be continued until I have the strength to type and think at the same time.

The Game of Law

Every jurisdiction is different, but here in my town the court system works a little like this.  For jury trials, a certain number of cases are put on a docket for a one-week period.  Within those cases, the district attorney's office has control over what we call the "trial order."  The trial order serves as a priority list of cases that will be called, as the docket is usually printed alphabetically.  All the defendants appear in court on the Monday of the trial week, and essentially they wait around until their case is called.  If they are pleading guilty and not having a trial, sometimes they get to go Monday morning; other times they have to wait around all week until there is a break in the action

Next week, I have a total of 23 cases on the docket.  The entire docket itself probably has between 75-90 cases.  Five of my cases are probation violations, which are extremely important but there's only so much prep work you can do.  They don't take place in front of a jury, so even though the stakes are high, stress level is manageable.  The rest of my cases could potentially be for trial.

Of the 18 cases that could be for trial, about 11 of them will have non-jury dispositions or continuances.  That leaves 7 cases that legitimately could go to trial.  Like, tomorrow.

This is where the stress comes in.  Part of preparation is talking to the DA's office and discovering where your cases sit on the trial order, what they are willing to work out, etc.  You know that not all potential trials will go to trial next week, but which ones that could be are anyone's guess.

As it stands now, I know vaguely what 3-4 cases are on the priority list, but I don't know where they sit; they could be at the top, the bottom, or somewhere in between.  The rest of the cases are not "set for trial" so to speak, but if the "trial order" falls apart, we'll be forced to dig into the reserves to conduct business for the rest of the week.

Yeah, if you think just reading this was a headache, you have no idea.  Jury trials make me nervous, because I'm still new to them, but really what's worse is the complete unknown, the anxiety of what could happen or what might happen.  I'd rather just know already and get all my ducks in a row for X case to go at Y time.  The guesswork has my stomach in knots and my brain working overtime to make sure it remembers 1,763 different tasks for each case. 

Let's all just keep our fingers crossed and hope for the best.  I want to do another jury trial, I just want to do it well.

Sunday Night Snippets

* Fresh-from-the-oven chocolate chip cookies, from scratch.  My co-workers love me on their birthdays.

* Tomorrow is a BIG day for me - helping the Boss on a murder trial.  At some point next week I'll get to examine some witnesses.  I will quit my job forever if one of them screams at me, "You can't handle the truth!" because my career can't get any better than that. 

* Caffeine from cookies = cannot sleep = lying awake fretting about tomorrow = damn.

* Masala is desperate for attention, coming up, slipping his little nose under my arm as I try to type; it's as if he's demanding to be pet.  And he will. not. stop. Holy hell. Super cute, though. 

* Must move away from here soon. Places I've contemplated going:  Every semi-major metropolitan area in North Carolina, Georgia, Florida, California, Washington, D.C., and even Virginia.  Bah humbug.

* Today I wore one of my favorite shirts: Vegetarians taste better.

* So many things I want right now - new shoes (can.not.make.decision.), new suits, new yoga mat, new life, vacation, a yard, clean underwear. . .where to begin?  Will my list ever get smaller or will I tack on new things to replace the ones I've acquired? Probably. : )

* I love college football. It feels so good to be back in the game after my 3-4 yr hiatus.  LSU v. Florida was fantastic last night, and the Texas v. Oklahoma game was full of excitement.  This season seems to have so many good teams, all battling it out for number 1. Wish I had planned ahead to make the trek to GA/FL this year; it's gonna be good, ya'll.

* I've started reading The Subtle Knife, and I really like it, but I can't seem to find time to concentrate on it.  

* New Gossip Girl tomorrow. Why is that show so awesome?

* I'm nervous about the election. With every fiber of my being I want Obama to win. Polls indicate positive signs for the Obama camp, but this article in the New York Times has me fretful.  Is it true? Or is the media just trying to creat drama? 

* Lately I've been doing the USA Today crossword online.  They have a feature that will tell you immediately if your letters are wrong, so up until tonight I've completed every one successfully.  Now, I'm too stuck to even do trial and error on the remaining blanks.  I used to rock the socks out of some crossword puzzles.  Now, I sort of suck.  Am I stupider? Or just out of practice?

Reluctant Happiness

In the past week or two, the air has definitely gained a bit of an edge as the chillier temperatures push the heat out of the picutre.  It's not cold per se, but there is some bite out there.

And so here I am finding myself torn.  I will admit, the colder air is somewhat refreshing and invigorating after a hot summer.  On the other hand, I am 100% a summertime girl, and the lower temps signal the end of another warm season and the impending doom of WINTER. 

Holy Crap. I just realized something.  Allow me a second.  Fall.  Fall is like the downside into the cold, bitter depths of death.  You are litterally falling down.  Spring pushes you back up, gives you a springy bounce to Summer, the summit.  Did they plan that?  Do you guys follow?  Did I smoke too much crack from the evidence locker? 

I digress.  My point:  The weather is nice but A) I feel guilty for liking it because I feel like I'm betraying my true love, warmth and sunshine and beaches; B) It's all very bittersweet because it's just going to get colder and colder and awfuler and awfuler.

Yeah. I know. I need therapy.  I'm on it.