Owie. Yuck. And also, yay!

It's been a torrid few days here in the Ysabel-MadCat household. Apart from the big announcement at my work and the rush to wrap up the last few days at the office (and the consequent cramming of a month's worth of communication into less than a week by my esteemed colleagues in the other city, less said the better), my department was also introduced to our new manager, who'll be starting at the end of January. We all knew she was coming, of course, but it's nice to finally have official confirmation.

Then, last Monday, 13 December, the department went out for our year-end lunch. Nice enough, although - unlike every single other department in the entire company - we had to fork out of our own pockets because our acting head doesn't want to run foul of the compliance department. Which sucks, quite frankly.

It was a tasty lunch, quite filling, not too expensive, and we followed up with a stroll around the shops that dot that particular restaurant's precinct; not to my taste, fairly whitebread, I'd say, all French Provencal and fake-rusted garden ornaments, that sort of thing - pretty enough, just not my kind of style. I wasn't enjoying it very much, frankly, because I was feeling rather over-full - quite Christmas-lunch-full, in fact, which was rather odd, considering all I'd had was a lamb roast, mash, a glass of wine and a few spoons of chocolate mousse. After a final cup of tea, we headed back to my colleague's house for a couple of cocktails, which I mixed (quite weakly, as we still had to drive back home that night) while we chatted and kuiered quite convivially in the balmy evening air. As MadCat was on night shift last week, he saw to the animals and when I got home at 9pm, all I had to do was go straight to bed, to toss and turn uncomfortably all night.

Tuesday was a bit of a nightmare of discomfort, as my chest hurt all day and I was quite the moaning Minnie, annoyed with my arrogant colleagues from that distant port city and snowed under with silly bits of work that, quite frankly, were streaming in because people had only thought of these items at the very last minute. That night I lay alone in bed, thinking I was having a heart attack, the pain was so excruciating. I tried to phone my mom - as I tend to do in all such situations - but the phone just rang and rang, unanswered. So eventually I got up and wrote my funeral wishes - rather dramatic, I know, and thank goodness I didn't post them to my blog, but really, that's the sort of thing that makes me feel better - writing out my will before a long journey, or setting out my funeral wishes when I'm all on my own, or something else devilishly superstitious.

Wednesday was sheer hell. I just couldn't muster the strength to do anything. In between bouts of getting ready for work, I had to keep lying down. It was sheer torture. Eventually MadCat came home from work, and convinced me that I needed to go to the doctor. I called both my bosses, and they were both sick as dogs, too - both had been vomiting all night. In total, four of us had been struck down by some virus at that restaurant. It wasn't the food - that had been delicious, and perfectly cooked; someone was carrying a virus on his or her hands, and passed that to us through the meal, either through cooking or delivering.

But there was more. Before heading to the doctor, I'd taken delivery of Deafboy and Adventure Girl's pups - because it was bucketing down, and the pups needed a dry spot for the day, as there was nowhere else for them to go; they couldn't spend a third day outside in the rain. You can imagine what awaited me when I came home from the doctor, with four excited dogs stuck in the lounge and the patio, sleeting rain driving in and the four of them rushing around dragging water everywhere. Poo piles. It was lovely.

Eventually I managed to drag my carcass through to the bedroom, order the dogs through to my room and passage with me, and pass out. And that's how we spent the day, with me occasionally getting up to let them all out for pee breaks, then back into bed,. then out again when MadCat awoke, then out again when Adventure Girl came to fetch them, and back to bed for me for the rest of the night.

So it's gone since then, with the occasional foray into the world to test the waters for Candlewick's kitchen tea, and a fabric shopping expedition with BellyDiva. But I still haven't recovered, and in fact had a relapse this weekend - this time with added puking. Wonderful. I'm still queasy, and very unhappy. I hope this does not bode ill for Christmas Eve, and Day, and Boxing Day, too.

Tomorrow (today?) I'll post about the quite nice afternoon we had on Friday, with the geeky photographers, and how that perked me up somewhat. It was good. A ray of sunshine in an otherwise awful week. And there'll even be pics! It's a plus.

Catching up

Well, it's been one of those weekends. Too much spending, too little downtime, definitely too little time spent together. Still, good times meeting new people. New, super-smart people. It's kind of intimidating. Especially when the Smartest Man in South Africa is bludgeoned into revealing his IQ (185. Holy shit.) and you're ... flattened. Well, thank goodness no one asked mine. Although apparently I'm pretty smart, but still. You'd never know it to read this blog!

It was Iaculus' birthday on Friday, so we went off for a potluck at his place yesterday. I always enjoy being around the geeks, and yesterday was no exception. Although I was kind of annoyed on his behalf that a bunch of "friends" cancelled on him on the very day, after confirming that they'd be there. Ah well, those of us who made it, had a great time. Even when the question of IQs came up.

Iaculus' babiest brother has grown, boy howdy. What a dashing young man, and he's inherited the most beautiful eyes of the three boys - even more beautiful than Iaculus himself. I'd venture to say they're as gorgeous as my own brother's, and his take a lot of beating. Also, the young man in question has his head screwed on right, unlike his older siblings; he's not keen on being in a relationship just for the sake of it. I'm impressed, for a 17-year-old. I guess he's just taken a gander at his brothers and decided that being a playa, or having the wrong standards, are not for him. Good choice. WHY did I not take advantage and hug him hello and goodbye? Because he's 20 years younger than I am and I just couldn't bring myself to do so. Even though he's a gorgeous, strapping young man. And a MENSA member. It's the damn IQ issue again! What a waste, and there he was, the well-mannered youngster, my own boyfriend (as well as his brother) urging me to "feel his six-pack". Maybe that's it - not wanting to be told what to do? Who knows? I'm just difficult at the moment. But I couldn't be part of embarrassing the boy!

The Machete War Party plan is gaining momentum, although I'm still in two minds about whether I'll join. I just can't get around what might have to happen to the moochies. Better than leaving them to their own devices, I suppose, but practicality be damned, emotion rules the day and I'm not likely to change my way of thinking without damn good reason.

Also, I've been in a foul mood for the past few days, and copious amounts of Synap Forte, vodka and chocolate have done naught to help. Snap, snap, SNAP, that's me. I growled irritably at MadCat that I guess I'd better start my damn adoption process RIGHT THE FUCK NOW because there's no point waiting until I'm 40, since it'll take a couple of years anyway, almost daring him to object. Poor guy was rather startled. Well, them's the breaks; just beacuse we will not be procreating due to various mental challenges that should not be passed on to future generations, does not mean I intend remaining childless for the rest of my existence. Still, I suppose I could have phrased it more ... kindly.

On the other hand, maybe next week I'll be in a better, more forgiving mood. We'll see.

Word of the day for me: obstreperous. And let's not forget recalcitrant. Also, bitchy.

Time for more martini, methinks.

Dig the pain

Is it tacky of me to want a Stargate tattooed on my shoulder just before the Wedding Of The Year?

Slogging ain't so bad

First day back at work. Nothing special, apart from the malevolent spider that crawled out of my car's ceiling, and then scurried around on the rearview mirror tauntingly, while I turned the car round and raced back home. Of course, by the time I got there, spidey was gone. It seemed to stay hidden while I drove back to work, one eye on the mirror. Hopefully it's been sucked up during the first valet poor Envy has received in over three weeks.

As for work, what can I say? It was work. At least I got a lot more done than I expected. And I even left only 15 minutes late, for a change, instead of staying almost an hour later than I should.

Still in pain - the Norflex seems to work for about four hours, then it's time for another. I can't wait to get medical aid so I can get this sorted out! Stupid me. Wish it wouldn't take so long to make up my mind.

Ooh, the bread came out divinely! Yay for gluten-free, corn and cheese enriched, home-baked bread! Going to have to try this as a savoury muffin mix, methinks ...

Sucker-punched

No more Somnil for me, especially late at night. We each took one at 11:30 last night. I have been falling asleep off and on the entire day. I don't know how I'll cope at drinks with Mirja tonight.

What a day. Up too early on a sleeping pill, staggering around like a drunken woman, off to Optera for MadCat's birthday lunch, played the worst game of Scrabble ever with my head all fuzzy, back home and unable to think straight.

Sleeping pills? Not for me.