Forget Calgon. Captain Morgan, take me captive!

I could be doing several things today, but I won't be doing them. Why?

I don't have a car. My insurance is due to change. I got some information I wanted before their web site went down and hasn't been back up yet. I want to make money but everything looks the same because my eyes are tearing and everyone sounds the same because my ears are futzing up so badly. I'd go out for plus-size modeling if my eye didn't look like someone beat me (my septum deviates to the right and it's all conglomerated behind there).

My mother won a small victory, and she'll not let it go soon. She darn near climaxed when I told her I used saltwater nasal spray. She's the sinus authority, given that her septum is "serpentine," rather than just "deviated." Her being the Queen of Snot Sucking, we should all listen to her wisdom. She hawks the use of nasal spray to kids on corner for an introductory whiff come allergy season. Timing is everything.

So, I used the nasal spray, told her, and listened to her I-told-you-so schpiel, but then rained down on her because the saltwater isn't cutting it. I told her I needed a chisel for this stuff coagulated in my sinuses.

"Afrin! That's what you need. Just a couple of puffs won't make you addicted."

So, saltwater nose spray is the gateway sniffer for lightweights. Afrin is for hard-core folks.

I told her saltwater running down the back of my throat is gross enough. The Afrin will have to wait until I'm near-dead desperate.

Or maybe, since Junior's b-day is upcoming, I'll let her drop some Afrin off after I ask her to host a six-teen sweet 16 movie party at her house. Hm.

If the new insurance was in effect, I would be on my way to the urgent care clinic, which would be covered under the new insurance. I don't have urgent care coverage right now. If the new insurance web site was up, I could make plans for a new primary care physician, hopefully to coincide with one that's on the old plan, as well. Of course, I've left out one crucial detail.

I have no car.

Shit fuzzy fuck.

But, Stud loves me. I promised him, um, services for going to get me some Diet Coke with which to decoagulate the crap in the back of my throat. At 5:45 a.m., he brought me closer to my own climax than he has in a long time.

And, of course, my sickness doesn't affect just me. Dude managed to sneak by without getting his homework done because I went to bed early. Granny had to miss work because I couldn't do it. I was going to until she asked me, point black, did I want to do it.

"No," I said in a very, very small voice, adding, "I'm sorry..."

"What the hell you sorry fur? I gots fideen peeples in mah house, it's Halloween, and the kid is going widout, chunowutI'msaying? I'll call off work, but these fools better cough up some green stuff and not like what's coming out of yo' face."

She's got a point. The plan was simple; Boo comes over right before bed, I tuck him in on the recliner, wait for Granny to call, and then watch him go to her car at 2 a.m. It's a good thing I was honest. She called at 9:15. By 9:45, I was asleep. I crashed that quick, and I'm on my way again there real soon. I'm typing the surgical center rote boring dictation. I can't goof that up...I hope.

Little Boss Lady asked me how I'm doing and is chatting about the weather. She's not mad. Whew. I really tried to get some stuff done, but I zoned. It was bad.

Going now. I just crashed again. Dang it.

Does the vicious circle start with me?

I am not happy at baseline. I should be. Am I one of those people who just can't function without some kind of trauma in their life? I am situationally happy. I still can laugh at silly little things, but I've become accustomed to sleep, like a sloth. I crave it.

After years of not getting much at all, I have an overabundance. Of course, I can't wait to talk to Granny. She's thinking of moving to Iowa and I dreamed of her. When I visited her home, in my dream, she had two of everything. She was happy. I think it's a good sign.

Granted, it might have been leading up to this feeling so crappy this morning. Two days ago, it looked like I'd been hit in the right eye. My septum deviates over to the right, but I'd never seen anything like it. Last night, the headache started, and I had to tell the Very Good Job people that I just couldn't take any more. I couldn't function, but I still had to stay up to get the kids up. As soon as Sunny growled at the world, I went to bed. And slept hard. From 7:45 or so to 6:00. I'm used to being able to sleep for four hours, max, and then I'm up again. To top it all off, I have very few memories of my waking hours, but do clearly remember telling the kids to let the dog in, turn off all the lights, and be in bed by 10:00. I don't know if they made bedtime; I slept as soon as my head hit the pillow at 9:30.

So, at 2:30, when I woke back up, I felt I positively could sleep no more, yet I was groggy and pretty incoherent. Does this mean I've been saturated? I've overturned all my closets' contents, looking for the medication that doesn't read "for runny nose." I need my sinuses turned into a friggin' faucet! I decided on spicy foods and, god forbid, saltwater nose spray. I hate sticking stuff up my nose. The spicy food helped more, though. I think I need a chisel and not a slight misting of normal saline.

Speaking of spicy foods, that's another indicator for concern: My appetite. It's back, and it's voracious. I don't need extra pounds. I'm waiting for the plastic surgery industry to come out with a home-lipemic agent, like the Lip-O-Vac, for home use. The sudden downturn in bouts of heartburn is nice, but it allows me to eat more freely. Yay.

Obviously, in order to function in complete type-A neurosis, I need a few back-stabbing friends and a boss who tells me I'm stupid at every pass. I'm just not happy without it. I need a constant fire on my ass to keep me running at peak performance.

Does this mean I'm a closet type B personality? God, I hope not.

#

Junior had his first kiss. I still need respiratory therapy, but at least he told me. He pulled me aside and it was just so sweet. Just a peck, but I told him not to mention it to my side of the family. They'll think he's on his way to slutdom. His little lady is quite nice, and has such a good attitude that she wore the rubberbands in her braces for the homecoming dance. That's pretty come as you are, right? Don't let braces make you think "Ugly Betty," cuz she's not. She's tall, thin, pretty, and stylish, with gorgeous red hair cut in an "I brush and go" fashion. Sunny and I approve; that's our hair, too.