flashingreds...
oh i'll get you something
(2002-12-17, 4:30 p.m.)
Day 9. This morning a coworker said, �Oh, are you getting sick again?� Heh. That �getting� thing implies some sort of pleasant health in between the recent lows, and I don�t remember any such feelings.

My officemates keep singing �Time to Change� at me. Thanks very much.

It�s a foul and nasty day. I�m overtired. The problem was a good bit of this just before bed. Frankly the reading lasted way beyond what should�ve been bedtime, but I simply had to finish. It is not the sort of book one can just read a bit of before bed, particularly on a night so windy that my front door opened on its own at about 10:30. It freaked the cat out, too, but he had a rough night. Early in the evening, I just might�ve chased him around the house with an item from someone�s Christmas gift, making it growl and snap at him. I can�t blame him for being freaked out by the door, but oh, it was not very amusing. When sleep did come, it was peppered with tension and mortification. It was the sort of morning where you awaken from the dream and immediately wish for oblivion. And then you realize you�ve overslept and have to go to work, but even the thought of tardiness can�t keep you from staying overlong in the shower, trying to slough off the horror of the dream.

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I finally took Dad out for his belated birthday lunch, since he was stuck in this on his actual birthday. He had a margarita, so he was happy.

We discussed what we�ll make for the little family holiday gathering on Monday. So far: some sort of cake, real eggnog and roasted red peppers. Yes, the plan could use a bit more work. We could use some actual entr�e ideas. We�re struggling with what we�d like to cook, as opposed to what my picky brothers-in-law will actually eat, and again, my vegetarianism is causing confusion. I�m somehow at a loss to make suggestions for acceptable alternatives.

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I�ll give you a hundred bucks if you�ll finish my holiday shopping, wrap the gifts, and finish making out Christmas cards (which means finding that stupid address book). Seriously.