For all of you that kept needling me to go to the doctor, yeah, you were right, okay? Now be quiet! :) Actually, I got better news than I expected. I have a nasty ugly sinus infection—bad enough that the doc felt that part of my problem was that I wasn't getting good sleep because of it. So Dr. Puri loaded me up with industrial-strength antihistamines (a shot, no less!) and sent me home with a prescription for a wicked-strength anti-coughing medicine and told me to get some rest.I have GOT to find out what these meds are. Two hours after the shot, I would've sworn to you that I wasn't even sick. I could breathe, I could think. So I did a couple of loads of laundry, made a very-necessary run to the bank, and picked up a few bags of groceries. Then came home and lolled on the couch for a few hours. Last night I slept like a log and actually woke up before my alarm this morning (thus, having enough time to write this before I amble off to work).

Looks like there's a name for this particular beastie I've got—"bronchitis." Eeeeeewwwww. Explains that little problem with breathing I've been having lately. I'm going to the doctor tomorrow morning to get this confirmed, but I've had this so many times that I think I can predict what he's going to say even before I fork over the cashola.

I'm a terrible patient. I know this. I deny being ill until I'm virtually dead on my feet (would anyone who has physically seen me in the past 48 hours please shut up already?). I dragged myself to work on Tuesday (4 hours) and today (5) and I'm wondering if I should just give up and not even bother going in tomorrow morning after my doctor's appointment.I suspect my co-workers will be relieved if I decide that.

So it's Tuesday. So I go to work, since I didn't drag in on Monday, and by 1:00 my supervisor's looking at me and making warding signs and muttering things like, "Ames, you sound like hell. Why don't you go home and….sleep? or something like that?" With the implied statement, "We don't want your germs, would you please take them home?"

Andy-the-sysadmin was a bit less tactful: "You are breathing in my office. Go away!" Sooooo….unloved and germ-laden, here I am at home, hackcoughwheezing into my keyboard and wondering if you can pop stuffed-up ears with anything except surgical instruments…Bah, I say.

So, you ask, why aren't you lying on the couch, sleeping? Gee, it couldn't possibly be the two cats who, upon seeing me come in the door several hours early, both thought at the same time: "YEAH! Extended petting session on the couch right NOW!" *stomp stomp knead knead PURR!*

Brats. :)

Yes. I have now seen the tackiness that is New Orleans. Good grief, what heavy food they've got there. I have to agree with Jen, who commented on the total lack of vegetable matter being served at every meal we had there.

Jackson Square?
at East Bank, New Orleans, Louisiana, United States by domesticat.
(full photoset is on flickr)

SPAAAAAAAZZZZZZZZ! Okay, okay, I do this before every single trip that I take. I know that spazzing and flitting about the night before a trip is not healthy in the least, but that's probably why I do it.

N'awlins, here I come. Be afraid…be very afraid…I'm bringing my camera and we all know what THAT means—incriminating pictures of my traveling mates!

It looks to be a seven-hour drive, which isn't too terrible considering that I'm going to start driving at about six a.m. I figure I'm going to hit Birmingham in the height of rush hour, and that it should be smooth sailing from there on out. As usual I'm overprepared—I have bottled water and munchies to take with me, as well as an umbrella or two since it's supposed to rain this weekend.

I have to confess. I watched The Truth About Cats And Dogs for something like the zillionth time on television last night. For the zillionth time, it put that hangdog "awwwwww!" look on my face, and when it was over, I had this irresistible urge to cuddle my cats.

I don't know what it is about this movie that does it to me every time. Maybe because I project waaaaay too much of myself onto the Janeane Garofalo/Quasimodo character. You know the type all too well—the person whose agility with words is almost enough to make anything—even wild passionate luuuuuuv with sexy brunette British men—possible.

I probably need psychiatric help for this, don't I?