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siiiiiick
I am sicker right now than I've been in aaaaaages, unless you count full-blown panic attacks (I haven't had one of those in over a year though; most of mine are limited-symptom attacks). This seems to be just a flu with fever and cough, but I don't think I've had one of those in the last ten years. It's the same bug Wax is recovering from right now, evidently, so I know what to expect, more or less.
On the other hand, I think I'm too sick to answer email. I can read it, but I can't seem to gather the energy required for more than a few lines at once. Sorry bout that if you're waiting; just give me a few days.
And speaking of a few days, even though the fever came on HARD the night before my interview Friday (causing me to shiver so hard I bundled up in more blankets than I'd use at -25° out), I think it went okay, though not perfectly. I will be hearing from them Wednesday at the latest. I did have to walk there and back at +13° C up a steep hill, and that no doubt contributed to my misery the rest of yesterday. But I did have a sort of good feeling there.
I spent large portions of several years of childhood home sick from school, before I figured out a) food sensitivity and b) the fact that I get debilitating abdominal cramps if anything, including elastic or the waistband of tights, digs into my belly. I watched Singin' in the Rain every time I was home sick, so when I decided to watch it today and Wax threatened to put on her headphones, I muted it and put on the closed captions instead. And proceeded to loudly call out and sometimes exclaim angrily over every minor rephrasing of the spoken lines. I think they do it to make them fit better, but sometimes they really destroy the sense of a line, or even ruin a punchline. It lifted my spirits a bit, but all the recitation can't have been good for my throat, which is just now about as irritated as I get by reading canon inaccuracies about TOS or Sherlock Holmes.
Russel Crowe is settling in well enough to have approached Arwen in her Queen of the World perch 2" under the ceiling on the pillow that matches her queenly little eyes. He wanted to play. She lazily smacked him away and he backed up immediately, of course, but he did come back about 40% of the way across the top of the bookcase about 15 minutes later before rethinking his plan. He walks up and down the back of the couch but has not yet dared to sit in our laps, and he still considers the pimped-out Kitty Cave in the sauna his home base, but I think he's gonna be fine. I only hope he will not remain standoffish about snuggles, because I really, really want to squeeze him. Also I hope the breeder will take our money for him soon. She called today to check and Wax tried to convey our decision was to keep him by saying "We want to keep him" repeatedly, but it didn't penetrate and the crazy lady said she guessed we wanted to "keep trying" and she would call back next week. (I think Wax shouldn't have confused her by describing how he was settling in, which of necessity included some references to the things he is still or recently was nervous about).
Also is 4 years old too young for button eyes? I'm making Coraline-inspired ragdolls for the niecephews.
On the other hand, I think I'm too sick to answer email. I can read it, but I can't seem to gather the energy required for more than a few lines at once. Sorry bout that if you're waiting; just give me a few days.
And speaking of a few days, even though the fever came on HARD the night before my interview Friday (causing me to shiver so hard I bundled up in more blankets than I'd use at -25° out), I think it went okay, though not perfectly. I will be hearing from them Wednesday at the latest. I did have to walk there and back at +13° C up a steep hill, and that no doubt contributed to my misery the rest of yesterday. But I did have a sort of good feeling there.
I spent large portions of several years of childhood home sick from school, before I figured out a) food sensitivity and b) the fact that I get debilitating abdominal cramps if anything, including elastic or the waistband of tights, digs into my belly. I watched Singin' in the Rain every time I was home sick, so when I decided to watch it today and Wax threatened to put on her headphones, I muted it and put on the closed captions instead. And proceeded to loudly call out and sometimes exclaim angrily over every minor rephrasing of the spoken lines. I think they do it to make them fit better, but sometimes they really destroy the sense of a line, or even ruin a punchline. It lifted my spirits a bit, but all the recitation can't have been good for my throat, which is just now about as irritated as I get by reading canon inaccuracies about TOS or Sherlock Holmes.
Russel Crowe is settling in well enough to have approached Arwen in her Queen of the World perch 2" under the ceiling on the pillow that matches her queenly little eyes. He wanted to play. She lazily smacked him away and he backed up immediately, of course, but he did come back about 40% of the way across the top of the bookcase about 15 minutes later before rethinking his plan. He walks up and down the back of the couch but has not yet dared to sit in our laps, and he still considers the pimped-out Kitty Cave in the sauna his home base, but I think he's gonna be fine. I only hope he will not remain standoffish about snuggles, because I really, really want to squeeze him. Also I hope the breeder will take our money for him soon. She called today to check and Wax tried to convey our decision was to keep him by saying "We want to keep him" repeatedly, but it didn't penetrate and the crazy lady said she guessed we wanted to "keep trying" and she would call back next week. (I think Wax shouldn't have confused her by describing how he was settling in, which of necessity included some references to the things he is still or recently was nervous about).
Also is 4 years old too young for button eyes? I'm making Coraline-inspired ragdolls for the niecephews.