Fuck you, Santa Ana.

I’ve had my cat for about a year now. When I got him, he weighed about twelve pounds. Now he weighs over fifteen.

To put that in perspective, imagine gaining 20% of your body weight. Now put down the phone number for Weight Watchers, and return to the post.

He was a bit skinny when I first got him, so when I switched him off the Fancy-Schmancy (read: astoundingly expensive) food he was on because it was giving him digestion issues, I was initially pleased to notice he wasn’t so bony.

But then the other night he came to sleep on my chest, and I thought he was about to crack one of my ribs.

I did the old weigh yourself, then weigh yourself holding the cat bit and while I’ve lost about five pounds from being sick, I discovered the reason the kitty snores so loud now.

Hopefully Fat Boy food doesn’t cost as much as Fancy-Schmancy food. Or come with similar…digestion issues.

I’ve been inside for the better part of eight days. I’ve left my building twice in that span. Once to go to dinner with friends, and once to go to that interview.

And now, I’m starting to crack. It didn’t bother me that I wasn’t going out when I was sick, because I was really too sick to do anything other than sleep and halfheartedly operate the TiVo.

I’m still not feeling 100%, but it’s finally really, really starting to get to me that I haven’t been out, mostly because I’ve done most everything that can be done inside.

I cleaned my apartment, mostly because the Jons came. I saw portions of my floor I haven’t seen in months.

I’ve paid all my bills and realized how financially fucked I am right now (strange coincidence, that). I’ve caught up on an enormous amount of TiVoed material.

I built a wardrobe I got dirt cheap at Ikea a couple weeks ago. I’ve ironed everything that needs ironing and put it in the wardrobe. And I never iron.

I’m too broke to go to a movie or go drive around or go get dinner. It’s too late and I don’t quite have the energy to go for a walk.

And now, I’m staring at the walls. And they’re closing in on me. I have got to get out of here.

I went in for a job interview at a TV show this morning. This may or may not have been a wise idea, given how sick I’ve been and that I’m still only about 60% of normal.

However, my internal debate about the wisdom of that move was halted at about 3pm when I recieved a phone call.

“Hey, so, we wanted to thank you for coming in, but unfortunately, we just got the word we’ve been cancelled, so there is no job. Sorry!”

Whoops.

Edited to add: Yep, here’s the official word. Sucks for the poor girl who had to call me, since she’s now also out of a job.

I finally cracked and went to the doctor today, since my illness was not making any progress despite my sleeping about 16 hours a day and drinking of tons of fluids.

The doctor told me I have a viral sinus infection. There’s good news and bad news with this.

The good news is that a) it’s not contagious (unless I sneeze or cough directly on someone, and I haven’t been doing either) and b) it’s not nearly as serious as a bacterial sinus infection.

The bad news is that there’s absolutely nothing I can do to speed it along its course, which is normally 7-10 days.

When I asked if there was anything I could do about the Killer Fatigue I’ve been sufferering (just going to the doctor made me feel like I ran a marathon), she said, “Just give into it and sleep.”

I offered a few weak “but…but…fluids! bed rest!” protestations, but she told me I wasn’t the only type-A personality who’d been struck low by this virus.

And none of us were pleased to hear what she had to say: This will only go away if you let it run its course. There is nothing, repeat, nothing you can do about it.

Damnation.

When the person who helps you file your claim with the unemployment office ends the call with, “Now you go take care of that cold, and feel better.”

I hate colds. Really, really hate theb. Because when I hab a cold, I edd up talkig like this. Add I soud absolutely idsade.

Dabbit. Adybody got ady decodgestant?

As I pulled out of my parking space this morning, I felt the familiar whump-whump-whump of a flat tire. I thought it was the front driver’s side tire, which has been giving me problems lately.

But I looked, and it was fine. So I pulled out of my building, and the whumping continued, and I discovered it was actually the front passenger side tire that was flat.

Having busted my jack the last time I had a flat tire, I called AAA. When the guy got the tire off (which was so flat that when he jacked the car up, the tire actually remained flat), he showed me the problem: There was an enormous nail in the tire.

So I slogged to work on the wee little donut tire, and when I got there, they said, you know what, it’s slow, go get your tire fixed so you can actually do runs today.

So I call my friend Tim, who knows cars and knows the car shops in the Valley, and he sends me to a place called Western Tire.

When I get there, I ask if they can patch the tire with the nail in it, and ask if they can look at the tire with the slooooow leak, and they say no problem.

A few minutes later, a guy walks into the waiting room, and says, “You may want to come take a look at this.” In car shops, this is not a sentence you want to hear.

So I walk over to my car, and he points at the rear passenger side tire. There’s a giant screw in it. It’s a small wonder that the car even got to the damn tire shop.

My immediate thought was, “I don’t remember driving through a hardware store on my way home last night….”

So out of the four tires on my car, only the rear driver’s side tire was not somehow losing air. And I immediately had them check that one, too. Fortunately, that one is (so far) fine.

Yet somehow, all of the patches and fixing the valve only cost me $35. I’d thought I’d end up spending a bare minimum of $100 for the two tires I knew had problems.

I owe Tim lots and lots and lots of beer for pointing me in the direction of that place. But before I get any for him, I need to go find one for me.

So why do I laugh when the cat is asleep and rolls over and falls off the bed, and then decides (after some wild staring) to sleep where he lands?

Perhaps it’s exhaustion and sleep depriviation combining to make me punchy, but I cannot stop laughing at the looks on the faces of the cats on this site.