2005-01-24 - 6:14 p.m.
Blah blah blah
I have been in bed now for FIVE DAYS. And not for a good reason. I’m finally feeling well enough to knit, and well enough to feel kind of antsy, but not well enough to get off my ass. I want to go to work tomorrow, but I don’t know if that will be happening. I thought I’d go today, but walking outside for 10 minutes changed that plan right quick. So, I’ve been stuck inside. It hasn’t been all bad. My roommate has left every day for several hours, which has been good for me (I can escape my bedroom and camp out on the sofa without being bothered). I have plenty of DVDs, and there’s always cable. And chat. I don’t mind the rest, but the coughing and the sniffling and the lightheadedness SUCKS ASS. I nearly choked last night on my own phlegm (sorry, I know, gross, sorry!)—that is NOT a pleasant feeling. Kind of scary, as well as gross. But that solved itself pretty quickly, and it’s mostly my fault for thinking that a cup of hot chocolate would be a good idea. Gah.
So. That’s the story from here. In other news… the guy I was dating, before he went off to DC for New Year’s, got a job. Finally. He’s not a bad guy, and I’m really happy for him, and I know this takes a huge weight off his shoulders. He and I have spoken a few times in the last couple of weeks, and it’s not mean or strained or anything. It just… is. We won’t be having sex anymore, but hopefully we can still be friends. You never know.
The guy I went out with last week called yesterday. Odd. After a week, I figured I would just never hear from him again. But he called, and… meh. He’s the kind of person who likes to contradict and prove how smart he is, and that pisses me the fuck off. He’s the kind of guy who won’t make a single concession, and I don’t like to be friends with people like that, much less date them. He also didn’t ask me how I was, and I was responsible for all the pauses in the conversation. Gah.
(I guess I’m not as forgiving as I should be. But… I don’t know. I firmly believe that if a guy wants to get in my pants, acting as if he’s smarter than I am is not the way to do it. He may be smarter than I. That’s not the point. The point is that flattery has to be involved. And it works both ways.)
In other news, my fish has been ill. Reg is now over two years old. That is miraculous for a betta. He started floating on his side last month, and I thought he was doing it to drive me crazy (he’s done it before, I swear—I would yell at him, and he’d straighten up), but then I looked up betta diseases and discovered that I was probably overfeeding him. I’d fed him exactly the same way for two years, but I guess he was just getting old. So I changed his feeding schedule, and he seems much better. Poor guy. It’s strange with fish; you can’t exactly tell if they’re old, because they don’t have hair that turns gray. They can’t tell you they’re in pain, because you don’t watch them limp when they’re walking, and they don’t bark or meow in a way that tells you they’re in trouble. I know people don’t think of fish the way they think of dogs or cats, but the bottom line is that Reg is my pet. I am responsible for him. I have watched him and cared for him and loved him for two years, and goodness knows I’ve put him through hell with all the moving and the vacations and the new environments and the occasional forgetting to change his water for a while. But he’s been a good pet. I’m kind of waiting for him to die at this point; every time I look over at his bowl and he’s not moving, I wonder if this is it. So far, he’s just been sleeping. Right now he’s fluttering around like a youngster. G-d bless him.
