Tuesday, February 11, 2003

The Ever Subtle Sally(eri)

Having beaten Lord Wuss into a bloody pulp to stop him wresting control of my mind while I'm practically incapacitated with 'flu, here I am. I just thought I'd catalogue for you all the numerous things that have been said to me. It'll make me feel better - going around *saying* you're ill just makes you feel worse. Going around having people *tell* you you're ill is fine. Bolsters your sense of pride at having come in to Uni in such a condition. So here we go...

Sir Whinealot : Numerous repetitions of "You should be resting" "You look peaky" and "Go home, go to bed"
Hot French : "You look like hell"
Random Girl I Forget The Name Of : "You should be in bed"
Archangel : "You look like Death run over"

The two who tie for "Most creative way of telling me I seem ill" however are Byron and Sal, with, respectively;

"Like Death warmed over, left to get cold then warmed up again so you get food poisoning"
And Sal;
"You look like crap, the presentation's supposed to be ten minutes" and later in the converstion; "Less parties, less work. More sleep, more tea and biscuits"

I present to you my ever subtle Sal. Isn't she great? This is the woman who teaches me Romanticism, kicks off about incest, and tells me frequently that I'm working too hard. This is what I have to say to her;

"He was the first punk ever to set foot on this earth.
He was a genius from the day of his birth.
He could play the piano like a ring and a bell
And ev'rybody screamed:
Come on, rock me Amadeus.
He was a superstar, he was dynamite and whatever he did (it)
Seemed to be alright.
And he drank (and) he cursed and he fooled around
But when the women would shout:
Rock me Amadeus,
Amadeus, Amadeus, Amadeus,
Amadeus, Amadeus, Amadeus,
Oh oh oh Amadeus.
With a bottle of wine in one hand and a woman in the other
'Cause he was a ladies man
He never stopped to worry what the next day would bring
Because the girls would sing:
Rock me Amadeus,
Amadeus, Amadeus, Amadeus,
Amadeus, Amadeus, Amadeus,
Oh oh oh Amadeus.
His mind was on rock and roll and having fun
Because he lived so fast he had to die so young.
But he made his mark in history.
Still ev'rybody says:
Rock me Amadeus
Amadeus, Amadeus, Amadeus,
Amadeus, Amadeus, Amadeus,
Oh oh oh Amadeus."

I think that sums it up.
Roll Out The Bandwagon

"So let me get this straight," Lord Wuss leant forward, glaring the VVR down menacingly as was his habit, "you don't like trends or fashions"

The VVR, curled up in a corner of its lair with a stinking cold, nodded

"Yet here you are writing a 'blog - no I correct myself, TWO 'blogs, controlling a Nation State, and going around saying "My spoon is too big" and correct me if I'm wrong, but you know all the words to the Buffy musical"

Again, the small fuzzy creature nodded silently, snuffling away.

"This won't do at all. I think you'd better give me control of the 'blogs for a while. Just until you're better"

Over my dead body, Lord Wuss. It's enough that I'm feeling terribly mortal without unleashing too much bile on all of you out there. So I'm sticking around - spending the day encarcerated in the library getting ready for my presentation and such, and continuing to be everybody's guardian Angel. *sigh*

Who'd be me?

Monday, February 10, 2003

Goldfish Bowl Head

May I just say for the record that I feel like utter utter shite. You know that feeling where your body keeps changing its mind about whether you're going to be sick or not, and has you running up and down the stairs all day thinking you're going to do the technicolour yawn then realising you're fine. Well I've had that a lot. And WHERE does all the foamy clear spit-like-but-evidently-not-spit-because-it-comes-from-your-chest-not-your-mouth come from? well yes OK, your chest, but how did it get there?

When people have a heavy cold, do they suddenly grow salivary glands in their lungs, which dissapear afterwards but for the duration of the cold produce bucketloads of spit? That would be really bad design. I mean, evidently your lungs don't LIKE having spit in them, that's why you cough and cough and suddenly Niagra Falls is coming out of your mouth. Annoying, embarassing, the works.

Also, what is it that makes your head feel like you've got a goldfish bowl or other water-filled receptacle on it, much like the helmets worn by SpongeBob and Co when they go to Sandy's house. Only the water is really thick and swooshes about when you move your head. It's more of the spit stuff I'll bet. That's it - colds make you grow extra salivary glands everywhere in your body, filling you up with nasty spitty stuff, until you manage to hack sputter and hawk it all out. Maybe if you had a cold that went on long enough you'd burst.

By far the most annoying thing about colds is that because of where I wear my glasses, I can't wear them at the moment because it's right over my sinuses and is really uncomfortable. so not only am I snotty, drowsy, coughing like a consumptive and full of spit stuff, I'm squinting like some sort of myopic rodent. And I have a presentation on Wednesday, and Stanzerl will be here on Thursday, AND I was supposed to be going to Pirates of Penzance, AND the workshop at Pagan Soc tonight looks really good but I can't go because I'm too ill, AND I have work to do.....

And I've got this terrible pain in all the diodes down my left hand side.

Sunday, February 09, 2003

Hock and Soda-Water, For God's Sake Hock and Soda-Water!

When oh when did I get so *nice*? Would you ever have caught Lord Wuss sitting up until 6am with someone they barely knew talking over a problem, then telling them it was far too late to go home and offering them the use of his bed? And I mean *without* him in it... Would you ever have known Liam to have gladly made dinner for seven people? Well he probably would have done actually... but that's not the point. All weekend I've just been being so damned nice, it's disturbing.

To start with, we had two people over for dinner yesterday. Do you know how big a lasagne for 6 is? Big. I made vagan lasagne as well which actually worked, I was quite impressed. We then headed out to Poli's and drank entirely too much, and having bedded people down for the night I eventually stumbled up to bed feeling like death warmed over at about 6am, only to be unable to sleep past 7am. Bummer. Also, this evening I made chicken soup for everyone else just because there was chicken. Hmmm. Chicken soup is good for the soul of course and excellent for someone in a fragile state of health as I currently am at the moment, but I don't think *making* it does any good. Chicken, butter, milk, - really not eating it. Though the Jellicle did propose an interesting theory that moralistic vegans should eat roadkill. As a theory it works, but as I'm not a moralistic vegan you won't find me chowing down on any tyre-marked hedgehogs any time soon.

I have jumped back on the wagon again and will be abstaining from alcohol for the next few days in a vain attempt to get my health back through the judicious use of non-alcoholic fluids, plenty of rest and actual food. By the time Stanzi gets here I may actually look a bit less like hell and feel better - I hope. Because frankly there's no way I'm letting being run down spoil the first Valentine's Day I've spent with my darling wife in far too long.

Heavy sigh. Chicken soup may be good for the soul, but novocaine works faster.