I down loaded photos from my phone. I have no idea what I was taking a photo of here:
I *think* it might be a thorn. Guess I need to start putting notes in my phone about what I’m taking photos of….
Welcome to the Great White North….
Wow. A lot happens in five years.
I went and looked back to the beginning. To a time when I had struggles and frustrations, but was generally happy. I had a beautiful affordable home to live in, a solid relationship, free time, and while not filthy rich by any means, I had some money.
I look how I’m now living, and I can’t help but develop a new worry: What if when I finally finish school I still can’t get a good paying job?
This weekend we took off on account of Leif’s birthday (Happy Birthday Leif!!!) and illness to simply sleep in and be slugs.
Part of the weekend included playing Monopoly. It’s one of a few board games everyone can participate in and enjoy. The Spud hasn’t quite figured out the “point” or developed an understanding of money, so she mostly just enjoys landing on Chance and either being sent to jail or avoiding it depending on her mood.
At some point she became concerned that she didn’t have a Get Out of Jail Free card. Leif however, had one and offered to sell it to her for $100 (if you don’t regularly play Monopoly, you can always pay to get out of jail for $50). I laughed thinking it was a good joke, but the spud quickly agreed and handed over a hundred dollar bill. Leif looked at me, I looked at him. We both looked at the spud.
“Whaaat?” She squealed. “I need a Get Out of Jail Free card!”
So, I shrugged and the transaction was completed.
As it would happen, later on Leif and the spud found themselves in a similar situation. He had a Get Out of Jail Free card, and she wanted one. So again, he offered to sell it to her for $100 dollars.
This second time I said, “Spud, you realize don’t you, that you can always pay to get out of jail for $50. Uncle Leif is charging you $100, that’s more than it costs to simply pay to get out of jail.”
“Mommmmaaaa!” Squealed the Spud, “But I need a Get Out of Jail Free card.”
And I sat and watched her pay $100 again for something that in theory should have been worth less than $50 and was both shockingly amused and horrified.
There is no such thing as cardoman. I looked it up on Google. I suspect they mean cardamom. Which is actually what comes up on Google if you google ‘what is cardoman?’ The brain trust at Google apparently knows that the Genpop will spell the name of this spice wrong. How do they know? I can’t say, but I guess stupidity is predictable.
I’m trying really hard to comprehend this mistake. In some regions this particular spice is not very common or well known, I guess, but still, it’s not even supposed to be pronounced cardo-man. It is pronounced like carda-mom or carde-mum.
I am having a very bad week. I am feeling quite frustrated, overwhelmed, exhausted, and as though everything I come in contact with gives me a paper cut and then a salt bath. To make matters worse I developed a raging cold/flu.
On top of my general yuckitude then, my cold/flu has gifted me with it’s own brand of joy. I ache, I burn, I am even more exhausted, I feel like I’m wearing sandpaper, swallowing Brillo pads, I can barely keep my eyes open but I can’t sleep, and am freaking hot. But I got up and went to work. Even though I wanted to go home, I met with my research adviser after work even though I told him I was feeling quite poorly and preferred not to meet, he wanted to anyway. I hope he gets my cold.
Everyone I saw today says, “Oh, Janie, you don’t look good.”
To which I reply, “The universe hates me, I don’t feel good at all, I’m having a bad week and a wretched cold.”
And if one more person says in response, “Maybe it’s allergies.” I swear to all the deities ever worshiped I will sneeze in their face and let the mucous freely flowing from my nose drip directly into their face as I scream “It’s not F*&king Allergies!”
And then I just want to lie like a beached whale in front of a fan in a spaghetti strap undershirt and my underwear but the lovely landlord picked this week to come and put a new roof on the house and brought his son and a family friend to stay in the basement while they work. Because its so hot, if I close the door I lose any hope of a cross breeze, so I stay mostly clothed and lie quietly with the lights out.
It absolutely amazes me how you can be lying half asleep in your room after telling people you are sick and don’t feel good and they still seem to think nothing of trying to engage you in conversation.
WHAT PART OF I DON’T FEEL GOOD, I AM TIRED AND WANT TO REST DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND?!? I AM SICK. EITHER MAKE ME SOME DAMNED TEA OR LEAVE ME THE F*&K ALONE!
I would type some of the internal monologue of obscenities I would like to scream if my throat didn’t burn so bad, but the mucous is dripping on to the keyboard, and that’s too gross and I’m too tired to keep cleaning it up.
Good night. Maybe I’ll feel better and less cranky tomorrow. Or maybe I’ll call in sick.