8:44 AM EDT: I feel craptastic.
9:27 AM EDT: I write an email to work (work being the basic cable network I never ever talk about on this blog so don't even) telling them I feel "craptastic".
10:04 AM EDT: Dog walked. Think about all the fun things I could do on a day off if I didn't genuinely feel craptastic: Museums, shops, and sipping a 5 dollar coffee at the adorable little cafe on the corner where all the patrons seem to be on permanent sick day.
10:19 AM EDT: Decide against moving my car to a Mon/Thurs spot because I feel horrible. Now 2nd guess myself and wonder if I should join all the unemployed rent control West Village boomers in the alternate side parking dance. But if you're not on the street by 10AM, reading your New York Times and exercising eye of the tiger-like concentration, it's too late. Verdict: it's too late.
10:29 AM EDT: TWO ROLL UP PIANOS FOR ONLY 2 EASY PAYMENTS OF 29.95?! NY1 I love you and your craptastic commercials.
10:30 AM EDT: Wonder how long it'll be before mom reads my blog and calls me full of concern.
10:32 AM EDT: Mom gets on the bat phone and the first words out of her mouth are, "what feels bad?" I say throat and head. Asks what I'm taking (nothing). Inscrutably suggests antihistamine. Offers sympathy and then launches into a kvetch-a-thon. Ten minutes later I beg off the phone because I have a new symptom that makes me need to run to the bathroom and gives weight to "craptastic" self-diagnosis.
11:20 AM EDT: Did dishes and started to clean apartment. Add depressed by dust to list of symptoms.
11:27 AM EDT: Think about posting pithy stuff on Gawker comments re: Katie Couric being happy. Decide I'm too fragile today to be hated by fellow nerds for my coveted access to nerdtopia. Going back to my dusting.
11:58 AM EDT: OH NO I DIDN'T!
12:40 PM EDT: My throat hurts but only on one side. Tonsil, stage left. Ow.
2:47 PM EDT: Asked to read at HTKP on November 30th. Accepted. Psyched.
2:48 PM EDT: Dog has not come out from behind futon since morning walk. Cursing every wasted hour I have felt guilty for leaving his furry rump when I go to work.
I'm home and this is what he's doing behind the couch. Ungrateful mutt.
3:30 PM EDT:Via email from a comedian pal I learn Don Adams of Get Smart has died. It's a great show. But you know that. What you don't know is that my uncle -- my mother's sister's husband -- wrote for it. I never met him, and he passed away years ago. This connection has never helped my career and never will. Once at the Friars Club I talked to Pvt. Zimmerman from Sgt. Bilko, and he was almost impressed. In short: no one is as impressed by this as I am.
Oh yeah, I have been known to party with the Friars. Jealous much?
4:22 PM EDT:Feel so horrible/Look even worse. Walked dog while trying not to puke or run into anyone I know. Didn't puke; did run into someone I know. Fully aware that I will most likely be going to work sick tomorrow. Falling into a well of self-sorrow, a deep and perilous madness. And now it's raining to boot.
My dog as the Gordon's fisherman. No, I didn't buy this for him.
4:45 PM EDT: My man calls to see how I'm feeling. Complain. Sound pathetic. Asks what I'm taking and yells at me for not taking anything. Say I don't know what to take given the symptoms. Refuse to go to drug store on grounds I feel too horrible. Promise to look for something to take in medicine cabinet. Says he's going to call back in a half hour and if I haven't taken something he is going to pick something up for me. Some threat. What's next? I swear that if you don't take care of yourself I'm coming over there to massage your temples, bring you banana marshmallow ice cream and force you to watch old episodes of The Muppet Show.
4:48 PM EDT: Scour medicine cabinet and find: 1 packet expired Theraflu, 1 box expired Benadryl, 10 expired Kaopectate caplets, 1 expired box of Severe Allergy and Sinus Headache, 1 expired CVS extra moisturizing nasal spray, and half a bottle of Tums. The Tums are good until 2008. Well that's just ducky.
