Hey, thought I should post an update on my health here.

So, at work on Friday, I felt like complete shit. Achey, feverish, sore throat, headache, abdominal pain, etc. There's a long story about why I just didn't go home sick, which I really can't go into here, but finally I got ahold of my primary care physician and got an appointment for later that afternoon. I let my boss know when I was leaving a half an hour beforehand. Of course, she came to have our meeting "real quick" three minutes before the time I'd given her.

Anyway.

So, my doctor is young. Seriously, I think he might be fresh out of medical school or residency or whatever it is they make them do before they're "real" doctors. He likes to explain the latin roots of words to me, which I like because I can never get enough info from doctors for my tastes. Anyway, I'd written down everything I'd wanted to tell him about ahead of time, because if I don't, I'll forget. So, I'm almost asleep when he comes in the room, but I wake up and immediately start listing off stuff I want him to know.

Poor guy.

He asked me to let him think a couple of times, which I was happy to let him do. He suggested several things it could be, several tests he wanted to do and several more he'd do depending on the results of the tests (one of which is a catscan). He took me seriously, which was a nice change from the poo-pooing woman I'd seen on Wednesday.

Friday night, Halloween, we snuggled on the couch. We didn't even get any trick-or-treaters (we saw a few when we pulled up, and they took one look at the big flight of stairs and decided it wasn't worth climbing). We watched Wrong Turn, which was tolerable only because Eliza Dushku was in it, IMO. Although I was impressed at their ability to make daylight scenes just as scary as the ones at night. I made Tim accompany me into the bathroom, and he laughed at me as I checked behind the door and curtains for crazed hillbillies.

Saturday morning was when I had a bunch of tests done. As usual, the woman taking my blood expressed glee over my big veins; not that it makes me happy, but I guess it's better than having small, wiggly ones. As it is, I have to read and look away while they poke me; when I was a kid, I just threw a tantrum until they gave up, but that doesn't look so good when you're an adult. Thank god for books and breathing exercises.

Anyway, I had the brilliant idea that we should walk down to the video store to return the movie, thereby getting in our walk. I was so dizzy and miserable by the time we were done, though I agreed to go with Tim to Best Buy where we bought Sopranos, Season 4 (so we could vegetate on the couch all weekend). Thank god for stores with bathrooms, though, that's all I'm saying.

Also, since when did boom boxes start looking like transformers? I kept expecting them to stand up and start shooting at me as I went past . . .

Anyway.

So, the rest of the weekend was mostly me, the couch, the bathroom, the bed. Tim took good care of me. He's a good one. The kittens purred and slept on me, which is better than any heating pad.

I felt awful this morning, and I barely made it to work. I fear the long BART ride; I fear I won't make it. I didn't even get a seat this morning, and I considered throwing up on the people ignoring me doubled over in pain, but I managed not to.

Man, I'm whiny.

Anyway, still not 100%. Not really even a solid 50%. Waiting to hear back from the testing. Not happy to be at work, but can't afford not to be.

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Now, for some randomness/ blog-type stuff:

This news story has been making the rounds. Now, while I'm all for Catholic school girls defending themselves from predators, when I first read people's excerpts from the story, I was reminded of Atwood's The Handmaid's Tale when they told the women that the revolutionary man had raped a pregnant woman and she'd lost the baby, then let the women tear him apart. It wasn't until I'd read the whole story and found out that the man had just exposed himself to a group of the girls that I felt less icky about the story. But I'm still conflicted. I want women to stand up for themselves, to feel powerful and not put up with crap from perverts . . . and yet this guy ended up in the hospital. I dunno. I think it's the violent response to something that wasn't directly physically violent, you know? I suppose if he'd actually touched one of them, even with one finger on a sleeve, I would have been all "Go girl" about their response.

Man, I feel really bad that I'm conflicted about that story.

On a somewhat lighter note (no pun intended) this link from boingboing: A blurred compliation of all the Playboy centerfolds from each decade. What gets me about this is how much thinner the 1990's blur is than the 1960's one. No one should be that surprised, probably, but I can't help thinking that the recent one looks like a starvation victim. Not to be all self-referential, but it reminds me of my last image from Famishing, which, no matter what some of you may think, is not intended to be a happy ending (at least one person has said to me, "Yeah, but at least she's thin.")

Yeah, that was my attempt to lighten the mood. Uh-huh. Ok, I'm going to go now. Hopefully I'll have a cute kitten update for you later.