Contagion

I honestly think that I might be operating under my own personal mercury retrograde. So, you know, keep your distance and don't rub my belly for luck, whatever you do.

I'd been not feeling well for about a week on Wednesday when I came down with a strange rash. Turns out it is shingles. I will spare you the health report except to say that I feel like my skin is constantly being rubbed with sandpaper. Daughter was hoping the rash looked like actual house shingles, but sadly, that is not the case.

I've been in near-quarantine since then, venturing out only to get my diagnosis, attend a few critical work meetings. I can give chicken pox to people, apparently. But I also had to take the cat to the vet (he had a giant abscess on his head), pick up the car from the shop (it blew a wheel bearing) and receive some money from my father because of the unexpected expenses above. I've resisted writing about it until now because I hate whining blogs EDIT: I don't want to be a whiner. (I actually like reading other people's whining blogs.)

On the plus side, I've watched a few more episodes of The Wire and some other movies (28 Weeks Later, Gone Baby Gone, and almost an entire season of Teen Titans courtesy of Daughter) and read a few books (Lemony Snicket's The Carnivorous Carnival, Brian Selznick's The Invention of Hugo Cabret). I also learned to do sudoku.

But I think being in constant pain has actually lowered my IQ. I can't concentrate on anything complicated and I find myself drawn to action movies and talk shows. I watched The View, for crying out loud.*

Anyway, until I have something nice to say I won't be back, so, uh, keep yourself busy with this, and talk amongst yourselves:



*No offense to lovers of action movies or YA books or soduku or The View. Well, maybe View-lovers. But that is all just weirdass shit for me.