Me Lose Brain? Uh oh!

2004-10-05 at 3:01 p.m.

Litany of Woes
As the title suggests, this is hardly going to be the most upbeat of entries. Those who don't wish to hear me bitch and rant at great length are advised to go elsewhere.

So, this has not been the best of weeks. Well, a week and a half, really. Okay, let's just round it up and call it an even fortnight. In any case, things suck. And to neatly categorise the suckiness for you, I will now go though and list my woes (woes are not listed in any particular order of suckiness).

1.
I noticed myself developing a cough a couple of weeks ago. I put up with it for a while, thinking it was just another delightful side effect of my hayfever. However, when I found myself doubled up on the couch one night, coughing painfully and incessantly for over three hours, I decided it was time for a little medical intervention.
I hauled my expectorating ass to the doctor the next day. He took one look at me, told me to go home and take cough medicine, and charged me large amounts of money for the 5.2 minutes I'd spent in his presence.
More than a week later, I'm still coughing. I've gone through two bottles of Grenadine flavoured cough medicine (I shall assume that 'Grenadine' is French for 'foul tasting green goop') and am still fighting the urge not to hack up a lung every morning. Also, my head has become a symphony of mucus (I've gone through two boxes of tissues in a week, and have made quite an impressive dent on the third). It's gotten to the point where it feels like someone has taken a pair of forceps and is squeezing my sinuses.
I looked up all my symptoms on the net. Acute sinus infection. Hooray. I can't even get to the doctor today, because all the MDs are booked solid. In the meantime, the internet medical site informs me, I could develop infections behind my eyeballs, go blind and die.
Okay, okay, I'm being melodramatic. The chances of that happening are slim to none. I'm just a bit tetchy because I've been coughing for two weeks now and I WANT IT TO STOP!
Ahem.

2.
I went out to see a play with my mother, about a week and a half ago. It was a good play, if a little verbose, and featured monks and knights and this one guy who, when speaking his lines, said them all in the kind of accent that makes you want to add "Arr, me hearties!" to the end of every line. (He was playing a monk, by the way). Afterwards, I was invited to the cast party. I drank, I conversed with various thespians and their families. All was good (except for the fact that I would occasionally cough so loudly it frightened the small children present).
When I arrived home at around 2am, I noticed the back door was open, although the screen door was still locked.
"That's odd" I thought. "Usually, I'm pretty good about locking that". As a precaution, I went around and checked all of the windows.
One was open.
God dammit.
I'd been robbed.

I called my poor, long suffering father (this was at 2am, remember?) who agreed to come and help me out. Then I called the police (it was the first time I had ever called the emergency number. That was kind of cool, but the circumstances certainly weren't). I then set about trying to figure out what had been taken, as things looked mostly untouched. "Perhaps I've been lucky" I thought.
Then it hit me.
The digital camera was no longer on my dresser.
Crap. Crap. Crap crappity crap crap crap.
(Of course, this means there will be no exciting pictorial essays on here for a while - at least, until my insurance company gets around to logging my claim.)
They'd also taken a bag I used to carry sheet music around. Thankfully, there was nothing of value in it- just some photocopied pages and a pencil or two.
The police came. The police saw. The police told me it was unlikely I'd get my camera back. Damn.
I was lucky, really. They didn't touch any of my other electrical equipment or valuables (and I tell you, there were CDs and electronics strewed carelessly, willy-nilly, though the entire house). Still, I'm pretty damn pissed off.
And of course, the aftermath is that I am now completely paranoid about home security. Every little noise is a burglar trying to get in through a window, through a door, or possibly up the toilet. I wouldn't put it past them. Sneaky bastards.

3.
I'm on holiday from work.
"Why is that bad?" one might well ask. To which I'd reply- "because I'm sick and paranoid all the time, you moron! How am I supposed to have any holiday fun when I feel like absolute shite and am convinced all my worldly goods are going to mysteriously vanish? Why does this kind of crap never happen when I'm working? Why do my holidays always get screwed up by this shit?
This isn't the first time it's happened, I assure you.

Okay, finished ranting now. Ah, I feel cleansed.

And now...

A Message For April

Note: All people who are not April will probably find this boring as hell, and are advised to go elsewhere.

Dear April,
Hi! See, I'm mentioning you on here. How's things? Got your postcards from Tuscany and London. Nice to see you're being a jet-setting European musician type.
Where the heck can I contact you? Will your American email address work?
And yes, I am aware of the work of 'Veggietales'. I intend to get 'Yodelling Veterinarian of the Alps' onto the charts one day, or at least sing it loudly and dischordantly in a public place. Possibly a crowded supermarket.
Sorry that you had to be tacked on to the end of such a dismal diary entry,

Michelle.

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