Wednesday, February 7, 2001

 

1:04 a.m. I've been feeling very, very tentative -- sneaking around, trying to hide from my own actual body, so to speak. I had a couple of short bouts with the throbbing pain last night, but nothing to scream about.

Today -- all seems quiet on the bacterial, or perhaps viral front. But it's a fragile truce, and I'm very fearful. I feel like a wilted-head flower, heavy-headed and wimpy ... worried. What if stress itself is the culprit. Could be.

On the other hand, I've eaten some breakfast (better not say what it was -- there's not a medical book in the world that would approve. Ok. It was pepe and parmesan and a splash of milk. Italian oatmeal, so to speak.) Can't be too good for you, right?

11:07 p.m. Crossing my fingers, metaphorically. Otherwise, I'd be typing dsjsljd slkjf pretty much. Maybe the thing is going where all bad germs go to die, and good riddance.

Otherwise, I'm one of the people responsible if the end of the world happens in the next few hours. I've done pretty much nothing to hold my place on the planet -- I've gone so slack that I'm feeling actually stunned about it. It's amazing how little a person can do with a day and still not get struck down by lightning.

Speaking of which -- we almost had some. Before nap: bright and sunny. During nap: pittery rain. After nap: gray and dreary. And with that entire panoply of weather, all I've really done all day is drift. To the refrigerator and to the mail. To the TV, of all places.

Where is my mind?

I've promised to re-do another website and I've got about a week now to get it done. Actually -- I've got exactly one week. My first act today was to thoroughly screw up the sub-domain business, which I totally do not understand, at Dreamhost.

Seems you shouldn't change the names of your domains meenish-deenish. If you do, you can't very well type them into that little url space at the top of the browser, now can you? So instead of concurrent, clever, and most of all -- competent! -- double-action double-covered websites, we now have a tiny bit of a snarl.

I probably shouldn't have tried to rise above a snail's pace today. Snails make their slimy shiny way, slow though they may be, and it's good enough. Speed is often futile.

But the throbbing pain is gone and that's something.