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2002-01-30 - 11:42 a.m.

Ok, so I am not going to waste this entry whining about being sick. I won't bore you with lengthy descriptions of the amount and consistency of the phlegm that has taken up residency in my chest. Or the weird feverlike deal that made me sweat buckets all morning and forget what month it was.

Nope, I will spare you.

What really sucks is being sick 1) while out of work, and 2) while JB is gone. At least if you are working, you can call in sick, thus giving yourself a nice free day sort of feeling and get all luxurious in front of the TV. And if your husband is around, you can act all fragile and wan and maybe ask for 'just a small thing of Ben & Jerry's' because your throat hurts.

Oops, I'm supposed to be sparing you.

JB goes on business trips to China every couple months or so; he's there right now until next Wednesday. While I was gainfully employed, this was not such a bad thing - his journeys always evoke a heart-grows-fonder thing where we appreciate each other a lot more and all that, and I kind of enjoyed having some time to myself. But now that I have ridiculous amounts of time on my hands, these trips really shit the bed. It's like the Long Dark Tea-time of the Soul while he's gone.

I am certain there are other people who are looking for work who are very disciplined about their day. Every job-hunting article I've read preaches the virtues of getting up at a normal working hour (yeah right), wearing office attire (whatfuckinever), and spending up to 8 hours a day jobsearching (I'm sorry, but if there was 8 hours worth of jobs listed somewhere on a daily basis, I probably wouldn't be having such a hard time FINDING one).

Me, though, I'm more the undisciplined type. If I were, say, a page from a coloring book, all of my colors would be outside the lines.

If there's structure to be had in my day, it's JB coming home from work. Previous to that, there may be job hunting, diary writing, web surfing, movie watching, coffee drinking, phone talking. After he gets home there is usually a mix of: dinner eating, news watching, gym going, grocery shopping, and TV gazing.

While he's gone, everything just sort of blends together and the day can only be defined in terms of Times Of Day It Is OK To Have An Amstel Light, and Times Of Day That It Would Be Totally Alcoholic To Do So.

Is it terrible to think that sometimes a day is something that must be endured, rather than attacked with vim and vigor?

I think when you have a job, unless you are wonderfully lucky, by the end of your day you are overjoyed to get home because damn, at least you're not at work anymore. So technically I should be bursting with happiness all day long…but of course, it doesn't work out that way. I spend my day feeling bad that I'm not AT work.

Now isn't that fucked up?


Anywhoo. I watched Hedwig and The Angry Inch last night. Mehhh, it was ok. On the Netflix descriptor it says:

"…Somewhere in between the crab cakes and the cramped motel rooms, between the anguish and the acid-wash, she pursues her dreams and discovers the origin of love."

Who writes that kind of crap? I mean, seriously.

Oh, and it's not exactly "she". If you care.


All right, I'm gonna go pound some DayQuil now. Mmmm...glutinous orange syrup.

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I have moved. - 1.03.2005
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