This happens a lot

Last night I had a dream about strawberries.  It was the only bit of any dream from last night that I remember, but there was a woven basket of big, beautiful, red, ripe strawberries and I wanted to buy them but they were too expensive.  Earlier today I walked outside to the mailbox to get my mail and I noticed smashed strawberries all over the sidewalk.   I know it’s a coincidence that the only thing I remember from my dream was covering the sidewalk outside of the apartment, but this happens a lot, and you know what?  It bugs me.  It makes me think there’s more to those strawberries than I realize.

I look worse than I am

Not even an hour after I published the previous post to this blog I started vomiting and passing out.   As you know, I’d rather puke every day for the rest of my life than blackout because I hate it that much, but it seems like my body doesn’t take my preferences into consideration.   How rude!

The EKG was fine and my heart is healthy so it was most likely a bug of some kind.   If you thought the description from last time was bad then you should see the bruise on my arm where the IV blew my vein.   It looks like my arm is turning into a gigantic blueberry like that girl from Charlie & the Chocolate Factory.   And I made chicken curry & rice for dinner and boy, oh boy, that’s some delicious shit.

Yeah, I think that covers it.

Oh!  And I’ll probably turn into a leper soon after pressing “publish”, but that’s ok.  I like living dangerously.

I work hard for the money. So hard for it, honey.

There is a blister on my pinky toe that is roughly the size of my pinky toe.  So basically my pinky toe is double in size and I feel like one of those cartoon character with a throbbing, dramatic injury.  Also, it’s infected.  Ouch!

There is another blister on the sole of the same foot, under the big toe.  Hurts, but not infected.  On the other foot, other pinky toe, there is another blister.  Small, non-infected and the lesser of the foot evils.  And a blister on the underside of my index finger near the bend.   And a huge bruise on my knee.

See?   I would blog more, but I’m so delicate my fingertips would bleed.

Not feeling at home, sweet home.

I moved.  Question to no one in particular:  how long after moving does it take you to feel at home and not a guest in a strange place?

There are some serious lighting issues in this apartment.  In my bedroom there are no lights at all, but curiously, there IS a light switch.  I thought that when I moved in and plugged a lamp in to one of the sockets that the light switch would be useful for turning on the lamp, but that turned out to be false.  The light switch is there to look pretty and remind me of a time (a better time) when a light switch served a purpose and a home felt like a home.

Maybe things will feel better once Molly and Wally come over later today.  There was an issue with the pet deposit – it cost $200 for the option to have a pet, but I guess I was confused because I thought $200 and I could have both pets.  Turns out, it’s $200 PER pet.  After the move, I am so broke my wallet makes screeching noises when I open it, so Wally can thank The Guy for being my hero and coming to my rescue on this one.   He’s like a knight in shining armour on a white horse with a $200 check.  Not sure how my ass got this lucky, but I’ll take it.

Saving the best for last.. I’ve never been the kind of person who feels comfortable enough to poop anywhere.  Never did it at work, or in public restrooms, friend’s places, etc.  As you can imagine, it’s not happening here either.   Not feeling at home is making me constipated.   Bodies!  Fun stuff.