I shouldn't play myself again, I should be my own best friend.

Yesterday morning I woke up thinking I might be a little sick. But it also might have been I didn't sleep well. So I went out and did my millions of errands, including going to work out. And I decided yesterday would be the first day I would use the steamroom at the Y. This seemed like an extra good idea given that I've been so dried out and dehydrated from this weather (yes, even with drinking 12 glasses of water a day). When I got to the Y, I realized this meant it would be the first day I would take a shower at the Y. Hmm. But it was mid-morning, and I had two towels, so I wasn't scared. And I did just fine really. I mean, when I think about it, I'm not surprised -- I was once a fat adolescent teenage girl who took gym and had to change clothes in a crowded locker room, so I'm pretty good at making quick-changes that avoid eye contact and cover up certain parts. And really, give the copious naked men I've seen at the Y, of various ages and sizes and shapes, I felt perfectly okay about 95% of my body. And that other 5% is easily covered with a towel around the waist. Plus, it was 11 am on a weekday morning, it wasn't terribly crowded.

I had the steamroom to myself and it was nice in some ways, for my muscles and my lungs, but afterwards, I feel like the fever jumpstarted my sickness. I managed to stop by the grocery store to get a few supplies in my haze, then made it home, called in sick to work and slept for 3 hours. I woke up and didn't feel better, but didn't feel worse, and I was hungry and craving comfort food, so I made a giant pot of chicken and dumplings. Sure, I'm sick, I probably shouldn't be so active, but I can't help it, my inner househusband caretaker comes out for everyone else, why not myself? Chicken and dumplings were an absolute favorite dish of mine growing up. My father mostly made them, but they weren't exclusive to him. One year I asked for them to be made for my birthday dinner, because I loved them so much. And the batch I made last night nailed that favorite childhood taste perfectly. They were ready when DYA got home, so we ate and watched The Wire. Much better than being at work. I drugged myself last night and slept a bunch and this morning, I'm less achey, though now I'm in the mucuous phase. I called off my dental appointment and I'm about to call of my date* for tonight, but I might go to work anyway, depending on how bored I am in a few hours. Or I might spend all day drinking licorice tea and neti-potting and eating leftover chicken and dumplings for every meal while reading We Need to Talk About Kevin by Lionel Shriver. Much like her other book, The Post-Birthday World, that I read last year, I'm completely transfixed but can't tell if its because I love it or hate it. Probably both. Well, maybe not 'hate', but 'bothered' is a more apt word. I think mostly I love it, yet I totally see why others would be completely bothered and annoyed by it, but it doesn't seem to faze me in the least. Maybe that's one of my favorite types of fiction: writers who do all these things that shouldn't work, but they completely do, and I want to figure out how and why.

*- Oh yeah, I unexpectedly went on a date last week and it was pretty great but I decided to not write about it here, mostly because I wanted to Wait And See until after date two. Which I guess I still am.

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I decided not to go to work tonight, and I was feeling slightly guilty about it - not because I owe them, but because I owe myself, given that if I call in sick, I don't get paid. But I reasoned that because yesterday was the 15th and today is the 16th, I'm actually splitting the days over two paychecks, so it won't be as bad. When I took the dog out at 3, I was pleased to discover that it was sunny and not terribly, bitterly cold. So I came back in and decided to walk to the bank to get money and some quarters, so I could do laundry tonight in between my reading and lounging. I was moving sorta slow on my way there, but all systems seemed fine. Until I was standing at the ATM, and started freaking out because my bank card was gone, not in its usual place in the wallet, not in the places where it could be misplaced, and I'm trying really hard to not hyperventilate and instead concentrate on remembering where I used it last yesterday, when the machine started beeping at me and asked if I needed more time. I had already inserted my bank card and forgot about it.

Yeah, maybe its a good thing I stayed home.