Rachael

Thank you for all your well-wishes, dear readers o’mine. I am feeling better, if only just the tiniest bit better.

I have strep.

I hate strep. I know, you do, too, but I really, truly think I hate it more than you do. I had it chronically, pretty much my whole life, 3-5 times a year as long I can remember. Then, in 2002, I caught strep in New Zealand, came home, and had it for FOUR MONTHS. They couldn’t kill the damn thing. Imagine fever every day for four months, ulcerated throat for four sad, sad months. Antibiotics every day for four months. Nothing worked, and I had to have an "emergency" tonsillectomy (which in an HMO, means you wait for four months for the first "emergency" available surgery date).

So I had them out, which for you strep sufferers, is like thirty strep throats all at once. Never, ever believe the ice cream lie. It’s truly awful. My sweet little mama came up and stayed with me and treated me like I was five which was all I wanted, and then I never got strep again.

Five years with no strep. And now this?

The worst part? My dad left me a comment on my last post, reminding me of something that I’d tried so hard to forget, that he AND his brother both had their tonsils out twice, because they grew back. So when I was at the doctor, I asked, "Does it look like I have tonsils? Even though I had them out?" She said, "Well, those spots look like they’re on tonsils, all right. There’s something there." Bastards. Stupid tonsils. Lala says it will be great when I lose a finger — spontaneous regeneration! But for now, blearg.

So I’m grumpy and I can’t go to Bolinas tonight to watch the band play and I’d had it all set up — I had a room reserved for us up there, and I had Clara being boarded by my dog-walker’s friend (different story completely, but just fifteen minutes ago, I heard a man in OUR BACKYARD calling for Clara, then I see him coming up on our porch, so I leap out of bed and put on my robe, then I hear him in the kitchen and then he’s in the DINING ROOM, putting a rope-leash around Clara’s neck and all the dogs are freaking, and I fly out and ask, "Can I HELP you?" because even in scary times I resort to angry-but-polite-waitress speak, because that’s all I got, people, and it’s Raul, the guy with whom Clara’s supposed to stay for the weekend, but I cancelled with my dog-walker and she was supposed to cancel with him for me but apparently didn’t, and I’m so glad I put my robe on, even though I didn’t have the tie on it, since I dragged BOTH ends of it last night through the cream of asparagus soup Lala made me, and Raul and I had an awkward shaking-hands nice-to-meet-you moment while I desperately held the robe closed with my other hand. He fled out the same back door and out the back gate with the dogs barking at his heels, me not knowing quite WHAT to do. I suppose I could have let him out the front door, only he was gone so fast. Then I went in the bathroom where Lala had been showering and told her and she just gaped at me. She missed the whole thing.)

What was I saying? So yes, no fun for me. Whinge. But I am getting better, every day, and I just have to be patient. Lala’s taken the dogs to the park, so it’s quiet. Maybe it’s nap-time again. Yes.

PS – I think I picked the bug up at the zoo, where I took Dylan last week. I have pictures. I’ll show you soon.

Oh, my god, am I sick. This is sick like when you were a kid sick. I’ve had a fever hovering around 101.5 for the past two days and my throat is so sore it hurts to breathe. I’ve had my share of strep throats, chronic for most of my life until I got my tonsils out at 30, and this is all of that rolled into one big ball of fever-pain.

Wanna know the worst part? I was supposed to start teaching my knitting class last night, and there was no way. I could barely whisper, and I couldn’t stand up without going into a flop sweat and then collapsing into shivers, and I HATE LETTING PEOPLE DOWN. I know everyone does, that’s the sign of a responsible person, but it seems to go further than that with me, moving into some obsessive-compulsive Type-A madness. No, I can go! I’ll dose up on medicine! I’ll fake it! They’ll never know! I must handle my business, sickness bedamned! I made myself sicker worrying about  this class, I think.

But Sile, the owner of knit-one-one, came to the rescue. She found a sub for me (thank you, thank you, Kate). And not only that, but she drove over to my house and picked up my class supplies, and then she also left me a care package. A care package! How is THAT for forgiveness? A little juice, a muffin, some tea, a Ready Made mag, Baby Catcher (the very book I’d been eyeing just a few nights ago in the bookstore), some Jolly Ranchers.

That kind of thoughtfulness and care made a person like me (STRESSED beyond belief by letting people down) finally be able to relax and sleep. Which is what I’m planning on doing today. And probably the next couple of days, too. Thank you, dear Sile.

(Oh! Before I forget AGAIN, Lala named the other kitten Waylon. Which was appropriate, since when I found him, he was wailin’. So we have Waylon, for the music, and Willie for the writing. She says it’s Willie like Nelson, but I know it’s Willie like Shakespeare, and so do you. Although it does reference a Waylon Jennings song he sings with Willie Nelson, in which they sing about themselves, "Let’s go to Luckenbach, Texas, Waylon and Willie and the boys, this successful life we’re living got us fueding like the Hatfields and McCoys." That’s more information than you wanted? Waylon and Willie are doing well, and the dogs are getting used to them. Waylon already wants to play with Clara’s big nose.)

Courtesy of Erika, source of many, many good things,  lolcats just for ME!

Hee!

And also for her, since she mocked our meltdown, shot from a moving car (I was not driving):

Yes, that was a freeway. You heard about it, right? The gasoline tanker that was supposed to be off the roads due to bad brakes, overfilled and driven by a fellow who should have also been off the road, exploded into a big fireball, taking out TWO freeways at once. (No one died, the driver caught a cab at a nearby gas station to the hospital.)

And because no one died, we ARE allowed to gape at it unashamedly. Seriously, I called EVERYONE on Sunday morning, hoping to be the one to break the news. I don’t do that with tragic happenings — I avoid phones and notifications in those cases. I won’t be the one to call you and gasp, "Guess who DIED?" But this? Oh, yeah. "GUESS WHAT? THERE WAS AN EXPLOSION AND THE FREEWAY MELTED!" That’s fun to share.

And to laugh at. Look at the way they stuck tape over where you can’t go anywhere. Heh.

Strangely, I have this love thing with the Maze, the area in which this happened. In the Maze, there are eleven freeway choices (counting different directions) and probably fifteen flyovers and flyunders. It’s gorgeous. Anyone remember when I had that freeway shot as my header on this page where the tub is now? That was part of the Maze. My sister took a black and white shot of it and gave it to me this Christmas, and it’s in my room:

Isn’t that purdy? And now two of those portions are undrivable — places where I am everyday, all the time. To get to the dog park, I have to pass right by. Kind of amazing in a fun, terrible, no-one-died kind of way.

And right next to that picture? Another sorry sight:

My yarn. Packed away into bags. The schmittens are living in this room as they grow big enough to play rough with the dogs unsupervised. Until that point, they’ll be in here when we’re not home. A veritable kitten wonderland, wouldn’t you say? But no yarn for kittens, no! Kittens that squish brothers!

Still at my work class, out in the middle of nowhere, stealing this time again, but OHMYGOSH don’t you want to take my class? Starts next Tuesday the 8th and goes for three weeks. We’ll have a blast, and you can make a Chickami like THIS. Go HERE and sign up. I think there are only two spaces left.

Also, I MISS Lala, the dogs, the KITTENS, and home. My bed. I will be home tonight, but we have to drive for approximately forever to get home. We will go right by the melted portion of the freeway (did you hear about that? The Maze, melting this weekend? Two Bay Area freeways out of service right at Ikealand in Emeryville? I decided Ikea should just rebuild it. Sure, it would be pressboard, but it would be done in a week. If the engineers could understand the instructions.)

Quick post! I am out of town! I just checked email and boy, am I behind. I’m in a work class, and I’ll be back with schmitten pics on Wednesday or Thursday. Miss you all. xoxo

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Why doesn’t THIS happen to me?