The title is my attempt at how Joe would say 'sick as a dog' when he's talking to Peter. Say it out loud through clenched teeth, open your eyes really wide, and jerk your head with each word, emphasis on the last one. Are you with me?
So I am sick as a dog. A crummy, stuffy, sneezy cold. But I feel strangely ok about staying home by myself on Saturday night, with tissues and tea and Gregoire and some movies. I'm getting to the point where I don't feel awkward about taking the rest I need, finally. In other news, the near-documentary 'Chalk', affiliated with the Morgan Spurlock crew, is amazing, touching, incredibly and almost painfully realistic. It shouldn't be missed, especially since you can get it for a dollar at the elephant pharmacy. OR IT WOULD BE A DOLLAR IF I COULD ACTUALLY REMEMBER TO RETURN THE MOVIES ON TIME. Six bucks for Sicko. SIX.
Last night was as close to pure, unadulterated loveliness as I've come in a long while, possibly in my lifetime. An amazing surprise, totally unexpected, a beautiful restaurant, the best seats in the house, honest, delicious, fresh fresh food, a restoration of faith in humanity and a reaffirmation of faith in Berkeley and especially in Joe. Sounds all a little bit high and grand but that's how it felt, and more.
Now off to watch Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, drink some tea, and I don't even care if I fall asleep.
1 comment:
ah the joys of being sick:
reading for pleasure and not feeling bad about it.
losing your voice, so you have a legitimate (according to everyone else) excuse not to talk.
i'm feeling solidarity with you in the sickness realm my friend.
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