Oh, my goodness. I seem to have broken my recent updating-every-thirty-seconds trend. What happened?
Well, mostly what happened was this: puking. Other, deliberately non-specified intestinal distress. Dizziness. Extreme fatigue. Horrendous back pain. Laying about in bed, moaning dizzily, for days. People, this stomach bug totally owned me. I could not manage an upright position for longer than five minutes, because apparently being upright brings on the heaving. Last time I posted I thought I'd had a 24-hour thing and conquered it, but this thing was fucking sneaky and returned with a vengeance. I even got behind on my classwork, which is normally nigh impossible, because my classwork is all stuff I can do right at home and then email to my professors. When you're a 2007 kind of gal, you know you're really sick when you cannot use the computer.
I was better yesterday, but after three and a half days of being disgustingly ill, I wanted to go out, so out I went. Michael needed to go to our neighbor town for some geeky things that do not interest me, so he dropped me off at our favorite diner where I spent a merry hour loading up on unhealthy food and reading Sylvia Plath's journals. I was kind of disappointed, because I only ended up being able to eat two potato skins, even though I was ravenous from not eating for days and had really been looking forward to the grease. I guess my stomach shrunk (and that's probably all to the good), but damn. I wasted potato skins. I must offer atonement.
After the potato skin thing, we went to see the third Pirates of the Caribbean. I usually don't see movies in theaters (I think the last time I went to a theater was over two years ago), because I am not a fan of movies in general and it seems pointless to me to spend ten bucks to sit in a crowded, dank room with a bunch of strangers just to be blasted with the sights and sounds of something I will probably hate anyway. (NB: I am the goddess of optimism.) These Pirates movies, though… they suck me in. They combine all the things I normally hate about movies — Johnny Depp, excessive use of CGI, incorrect period costumes, the spawning of an entire line of crappy merchandise — but for some reason I cannot resist them. So we went.
… And I realized something that should have been extremely obvious. Movies are not made for TV screens. Movies are made for enormous theater projection screens. The cheesy large-scale CGI effects that I hate so much on a DVD rental? They are awesome in the theater with a bucket of crappy popcorn. Clangy twangy “period” music? Delicious when relayed over enormous speakers. Johnny Depp's wincy, overly made-up face? Well, it's better when mostly hidden by all that pirate hair.
I am very dumb.
Anyway, today is back to normal for me, “normal” being as ever a relative term. (Whose relatives? Not mine! Oh, oh, oh I am so funny.) Today is a day for worrying. Right now, I am worrying about Connor's potty training. I know that he's young enough for these worries to be kind of premature, and I know that nobody ever went to college in diapers, but the thing is… actually, I don't know what the thing is. He's had a little potty of his own for a while now, and he is quite content to sit on it and get acquainted with it and even occasionally use it. I guess I'm worried about that “occasionally.” I feel like it should be “at least daily” or “before the bath instead of in the bath” or something. All of this is kind of nebulous and probably stems from the fact that until recently I was babysitting a kid who was very delayed in his toilet training. I am projecting. This is not the way to set up a healthy potty training atmosphere, I know. Here, Connor! Use the potty not because you need to, but because Mommy is neurotic!
I'm starting to feel like this entry is a prime example from which I should learn to place every entry behind a cut. Sorry, guys. I only meant to say hi.