chenanceou: (Default)
Not as bad as it looks... )
chenanceou: (003)
In earnest I give to you a piece of advice : Don't go Bunburying with people who Bunbury themselves.

Truth is... that being indisposed and handicapped for so long [even if the word holds a gravitas that by no means applies to my case] has made me repetitive with my excuses. I'm not one of those silent, strong, stiff upper lippy people. I'm one of those "Why in the @#$% me?!" belligerent with fist shaking at the firmament, dripping with caustic mordancy bores. I, centre of all universes, kept letting people know I was too sick to move [or go to dinner, attend an auction, a family lunch, a couple of baptisms, one bar mitzvah, start a war in a third world country, elect a new president...].

A sweet and perverse friend, with a very proper sense of humour, sent me a garland of flowers. It arrived yesterday morning. A funerary garland. You know the kind, with all the white carnations and a sash with gold paper letters glued across it? It [the sash] said - Far from our eyes, but not from our hearts [literal translation, but crystal in its significance].

Deserved? I'm afraid so. It has been months. My eyes will always be an issue in some shape or form and I should just get on with it. If the days of reading a book in one sitting are gone and done with, c'est la vie - there's the BBC and audiobooks. If there are people out there with perfect eyesight who don't write, don't own books other than those pretty things on top of coffee tables bought to match the chintz and who don't paint - life was never meant to be fair. Before I end up in a barrel, grumbling about people blocking my sunlight, I'm going to make an effort to rejoin the world.

I'll go Bunburying no more.
chenanceou: (091)
Have you ever stared at the ceiling at three in the morning and tried very hard to not listen to the little voice in your head saying, in the calamitous tones reserved for villains in cartoons, that you'll never, ever, ever sleep again?

If your answer is yes - I'm so very sorry and, unfortunately, I know how you feel.

If you have no idea what I'm talking about you won't understand the utter despondency of the insomniac that has failed, once again, to get any sleep. This cursed* tribe can tell you that if you think television programming is bad during the usual hours, the programming that holds you through the night is much, much worse [hence my stupefying enjoyment of Underworld].

I finally broke and took a sleeping pill. I took it and the thing made me ill, but didn't work [and it reminded me why I never take them]. Ocean sounds? Cricket sounds? Massages? Tisanes? This last week has been an exercise on the futile. I'll end this with a whimper: I just want to sleep.

*sigh*

I'll eventually do the back paddling thing and catch up on LJ. I sincerely hope you all have a wonderful - is this Wednesday already? Bloody hell...

Proof of sanity: On one channel they had The Naked Lunch, on the other [and unrelated channel] they had Beat. [One by William Burroughs, the other on William Burroughs.]

* There's a story somewhere about how people who failed to do their duties for having fallen asleep are condemned to come back as insomniacs - perpetually awake. I must have screwed up something really, really big. You know the Trojan guard in charge of keeping an eye on a certain big wooden horse? Probably me.

Not

Oct. 11th, 2005 04:34 am
chenanceou: (016)
I started my day in decadent mode - I went to bed when people were leaving for work and woke up so late that lunch was a memory for most other mortals [5 whole hours!]. I had breakfast anyway. Or my version of it.

Then I got dressed and went to meet [livejournal.com profile] rusty_halo at F&B (on 23rd and 8th-ish, it's my very favourite hot dog place) where we had the sweet potato fries. Then on to the very entertaining (and a bit sad, when you stop and think of the subject matter) signing for David Rakoff's book, Don't Get Too Comfortable. I had passed by B&N before I had left for Toronto and seeing the announcement for it on the window, thought it should make for an interesting evening. It did and I even got Canadian candy! I'm almost done with the book - it's one of those books one devours in one reading and then goes back for another ride soon after. (Apparently the director of Capote was there - Mr. Rakoff has a role in the movie.)

Gobo came next and we even got a table without waiting or/and without making reservations! Vegan food at its healthy yummiest and I still managed to get stuff that was fried.

It was too early to go home and so we went to a bar recommended to us by a gentleman we passed by in St.Mark's street. Burp Castle on 7th, with its monk covered walls and quiet, but friendly barman was a find - unfortunately they closed early. Which left us homeless and, because it was familiar, back at San Marcos. The music was loud (Fine, I did join in the Mercedes Benz sing a-long.) and there were mice. We left.

It was still too early. So we went in a bar we hadn't tried before for the second time in the same evening.

Ryan's Irish Pub had a young and nice crowd (they liked Bohemian Rhapsody, so they had to be cool) and we settled down to continue talking about the world, music and all the things you talk about when it's late enough at night (when your/my brain is completely awake). The barman was cool and left us alone after pouring me a Guinness.

Perfect.

On feeling threatened even when there's no obvious threat )

I hope that in writing this the nervousness will go away and I'll be able to sleep some. Tomorrow is another day and it's also when I say my farewells to the city and I don't want to waste time on ifs. I can just tell you that for now it irks me.
chenanceou: (19)
I've said this before and I was half joking only - I'm a man trapped in a woman's body. I'm sick and all I'm missing is my cudgel to effect the complete transformation of yours truly into a whining troll (if there ever was a whining troll).

I feel sorry for myself, am shameless when it comes to emotional blackmail (my early demise has been mentioned once or a thousand times) and change my mind about what I do feel like eating after all 3 or 4 times before the poor victim makes it to the stairs. I'd shoot myself for being so horrid, but I can't muster the strength. Oy me.

What I have been doing from the depths of my congested sniffling and snotty misery is drive myself bonkers over the same mystery that has mercilessly preyed on my mind: what is the name of the blasted book I have been looking for all these years?

I've decided to pay a reward to the person who can correctly point me in the right direction. I mean it. Every single time I get sick it's the same torture! What is the name of the book with the story with the girl with alien eyes that are stolen to her relief and then give only misery to the lady who buys them? This is the same book that has the story of the guy who leads a tragic life until he decides to put an end to the pain by killing himself - only to wake up on his original planet, where he finds out that the life of pain was immensely preferable to this life where you feel nothing.

I want to know. I have to know. I'm going insane. Where's my Nyquil?

I'm *tick*

Jun. 25th, 2005 01:53 pm
chenanceou: (19)


Ladies and gentlemen, The Common Cold )

Bacilli swarm within my portals
Such as were ne'er conceived by mortals,
But bred by scientists wise and hoary
In some Olympic laboratory;
Bacteria as large as mice,
With feet of fire and heads of ice
Who never interrupt for slumber
Their stamping elephantine rumba.

A common cold, gadzooks, forsooth!
Ah, yes. And Lincoln was jostled by Booth;
Don Juan was a budding gallant,
And Shakespeare's plays show signs of talent;
The Arctic winter is fairly coolish,
And your diagnosis is fairly foolish.

Oh what a derision history holds
For the man who belittled the Cold of Colds!

=#=

I need the Doctor.

Shades

Jun. 9th, 2005 11:29 pm
chenanceou: (17)
I thought I had something of great importance to say today, but it ended up it was only of medium import.

Spent the day doing things that I enjoy, but that made it harder than usual to avoid the throbbing behind my eyes. The photophobia is getting so bad I keep pulling a Jack Nicholson and wearing the very dark sunglasses 24/7 and indoors. I have my day version that makes me look like a gigantic fly (Help me! Help me! Yes, I'm quoting from the original movie) and the little round night ones, darker than you'd think (very Anne Bancroft, may she rest in peace, in Miracle Worker), but necessary since people think nothing of turning their headlights on at night. I sometimes feel silly and I will take them off when talking to people, but I usually end up regretting it since it's become painful.

I'll just be one of those weird ladies, with long, long white hair and tinted glasses (blue tinted glasses). As long as it's back home, I'm happy.

And that's that.
chenanceou: (Default)
I quit smoking a year ago. One year, 28 days and 14 hours ago. I could tell you the minutes, but that would mean I'm counting. I know what they did to me and I have heard people in white tell me quitting was the best thing I've ever done because, as it was, smoking had already wrecked havoc in my 40-ying body. I didn't smoke for long, but I was a devoted addict to my Marlboro Reds. It was a creed - I looked down on the Marlboro Lights people as wusses and don't get me started on my contempt for the mentholated weenies. I smoked Ukrainian cigarettes, veritable poison sticks, and lived. What can I say? I was a committed, uga buga, smoker.

Smoking kept my weight under control - a fact I didn't know until I quit and added 20k to my big bones frame (that's about 40 pounds for those who need to convert). My cigarettes kept me company through my insomniac nights and made traffic easier to bear. Yes, it was killing me, but it was sweet sorrow.

The irony is I've been sicker than ever this last smoke-free year. The whole thing culminated not long ago and I ended up wearing clothes that have no provision for derriere coverage longer than anybody should. Oy, joy.

After that there was the whole smoke-free waiting room purgatory. I've learnt the survival kit: iPod, gum and a good book. The last couple of doc trips I've gotten a kick out of taking my TPBs (thanks [livejournal.com profile] jerrymcl89). The covers. The way I put them face up on the doctor's glass table. The double take. Yes, I'm sick - but I can be cool while at it *.

I'm not complaining. Waiting room purgatory teaches you a lot depending on what floor/wing of the place you end up. What items to pack for the survival kit isn't the only knowledge I've accumulated this last month. You learn to tell the difference between pity and compassion - how one is okay, but that the other sucks bullets. You really get what the older people meant when they told you that your health is all that matters. It's true.

I often catch myself thinking two things when sitting with all those people in rooms that smell of ether even if hospitals nowadays really shouldn't. One: G-d better have a Plan because if there's no plan, G-d just plain blows; two: I wish I could have a smoke.

*Yes, comic readers are cool. They aren't all dorks, dweebs, nerds and/or geeks. I've met others and I know.
chenanceou: (51)
I dragged myself to the pc because I need help - literary help.

Looking for the name of a short story book. No, I don't know the author - I have my suspicions but am not sure. It's sci-fi. One of the stories tells the tale of a guy who leads a tragic life only to find out, after he commits suicide, that he was an alien given the gift of living on Earth where people feel. There's another about an alien who has her eyes taken because she can see beyond normal seeing and I think the transplant goes horribly wrong. There's yet another about the sound of the end of the world. *sigh*
I need to know which book this is or I'll never sleep again.
I need to sleep.
Help me.
Please.
=#=
Wire in the Blood series 3 started with 4 eps. My life for the time being is all about television and books. Dr.Hill is a very welcome distraction.
=#=
I'm for once glad for the imperialistic contamination and debasing of the world's culture by the capitalists of America. House starts here just in time for my way too close to 40 birthday.
Hugh on my big box every week. Hugh. Of course I'm going to see him on the big, big screen - all dirty & sweaty - in the movie Flight of the Phoenix. If it's bad, I don't care. It's Hugh.

I've been caught by the PC patrol. I'm too young to be bossed about by the offspring. Bye for now.
chenanceou: (Default)
Quickie. Thanks to everybody who wished me well, wished me luck and sent good vibes - also nice to know who actually reads my LJ and who just has me on the FL because. It went fine and I did have nice nurses. A lot of male ones, but nobody named Gaylord.

It's good to be home even if the bed is the wrong height and over enthusiastic young'ns make for a painful welcome.

I have no plans on catching up since sitting down isn't my best position yet. I hope you're all doing well and as happy as real life allows you to be. Lori )

P.S. I saw the Oscars [wasn't supposed to, but hey] and was disappointed. Chris Rock is one of my favourite comics and last night he was neither - favourite or comic. I missed Billy. A lot.

P.P.S. I guess sophistication and elegance this year were restricted to some of the dresses because the rest sucked dog's bollocks [perfection]. And I was full of happy drugs, so I was ready to love it.

P.P.P.S. I was going to go ahead and make a comment on how the redneck thing is spreading all over even to the Oscars and thought it was unfair to rednecks. The sets were ghastly. I wish I had the energy for the obligatory Oscars rant.

P.P.P.P.S. Poor Marti - he's the new Randy Newman now?

Live long and prosper.
chenanceou: (Bitca)
Pretty much all I have to say at this point. I hate them, hate that I've had them since I was a child, hate that sometimes the meds won't work and hate that it deprives me of a sense of humor.
Grr! Argh!
chenanceou: (Bitca)
And this is how I spend my time while nursing a bad cold. Taking stupid online quizzes that make no sense at all. Okay, they can be fun and the e-mode stuff is actually interesting. But why in the hell do I keep taking the stupid ones is beyond me.
Oh, just ignore me. I have a drippy nose and am feeling quite grumpy. When that happens the 36-year-old evil twin takes over for a while.
Chen



What revolution are You?
Made by altern_active

chenanceou: (Default)
I will not whine. I will not. The pain does NOT bother me... and the puking? Just nerves.

I keep telling that to myself, but I know better. It started with a bad migraine some days ago that landed me at the ER (it looks nothing like the one on the telly - where was Clooney?). Then it suddenly got incredibly cold here. Wait, I live in a bloody tropical country! Oh, right! Fever!

Yep, fever.
Puking.
Migraine.
Or how I like to call them: the Three Furies (disclaimer: has nothing to do with Mr. Fury, respected member of ME staff who has finally seen the light that is Spike).

I am taken by the weird feeling there is some co-relation between this, a cosmic sense of humor and Murphy's Law. Because of course it makes sense that I would get sick the week before I have to fly to Toronto. Why *not* get sick now? I mean I only have two cons and a list of fun things to do in the next 3 weeks. Not like I have anything planned for, say, the 4th of July. Right?

So I am going to do the responsible thing. What? Postpone the trip? No way! I'm going to take as much medication as this old, decrepit body can tolerate... Then I am going to stick so much make-up on my face even Tammy Faye will look natural in comparison. Then I am going to board that bloody 9-hour-flight-non smoking-plane if that is the last thing I do.

In case it is: white camellias are my favorite flower.

Chen dramatically turning off the night as she puts on bloody red lipstick

http://www.murphys-laws.com/index.htm
chenanceou: (Default)
No, take your mind out of the gutter. Talking about my day. The bad blow and sucks. Spent my day feeling the only pain that makes me run for the meds.

miĀ·graine (mgrn)n.

A severe recurring headache, usually affecting only one side of the head, characterized by sharp pain and often accompanied by nausea, vomiting, and visual disturbances. Also called megrim.

Whatever you call it... It sucks. It blows.

Chen hiding from any bright light
chenanceou: (19)
I would rather watch B/A sex than feel so sick. Yeah THAT bad! Don't worry not sick enough to take B/R (s) sex. So I'll live.

Missed fan fic chat and now am wide awake at 6 AM. My head hurts. My eyes burn and my nose is in constant drip mode. Being sick officially sucks.

Maybe if I'm sick enough I won't have to go to sunny exile... C'mon germs - help me out!

Chen telling the light to take a hike
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