I was in Indianapolis exactly a month ago. The day or two before I flew there I was getting a cold, and the flight made it markedly worse. I taught with a fever and *literally* no voice. I went to an Urgent Care place and they gave me steroids so I could talk (gets the swelling down on mah cords) and some antibiotics. I was feeling better in 3-4 days, and I finished my scrip like a good girl and that was the end.
I flew to Indianapolis on Monday, but the day before I felt like maybe I was getting sick, but I couldn't have two colds so close together so I just ignored it. After my flight landed and I got to my hotel, I was running a fever and was sick again. When I woke up for class the next morning (not that I slept, really) I could barely talk again. It felt like the same exact cold.  I went to the same Urgent Care place and they gave me more steroids (a shorter course) and no antibiotics, and I could tell the steroids helped. I flew home last night (Thursday) and had a full-blown panic attack on the plane (managed to keep my shit together well enough that I don't think others noticed; thank god for Xanax), and when I crawled into bed upon arrival home, my cold blossomed into a Righteous Plague that includes hacking up green things from nose, lungs, ears, you name it. I hurt, I can't swallow, and I feel like I got hit by a train. I haven't gotten out of bed because I can't.
Matt has been trying to plan a birthday thing for me for ages, friends have been wanting to get together, and once again I've got a cold and can't leave the house. Between me canceling things because of colds or me canceling things so I can take care of Matt when he has bad days, it's amazing our friends all haven't written us off as people who can't get their shit together.
I have a ton of work to do in prep for my San Fran trip next week and I'm hoping I can muster the energy to get it done. Typing this is monumentally hard because I'm so achy and crappy. 
Remember my ITIL book? Yeah, we're shooting the video of it starting 4/20 in San Fran-- but we leave for SF on 4/16 to spend a few days there. Might have to rethink that.

OK, time for bed.

(cross-posted to xtingu.livejournal.com)

 This morning I was in a hurry and couldn't find two matching sneakers. I could find one worn-out lime & gray New Balance running sneaker, and one brand newish barely ever worn giant white blocky New Balance walking sneaker, which I think my mother gave me, because even she wouldn't wear this Jerry Seinfeld circa 1996 shit. 

I was determined to get Vince to the train so I wouldn't spend the next two hours driving to and from Center City, and so I could go to the gym and have a productive morning. So, guess what I wore. 

I thought to myself, I give no fucks. And take no quarter. YAARR, I'M THE PYRATE QUEENE OF PLANET FITNESS.

Snapped the photo, sent it to Dr. Fig, because in that tightly wound New York poli sci world in which she lives, she needs this. 

So, as I'm walking out to the gym floor, I see a guy on another elliptical machine, African American, about my height, maybe a little younger than me or the same age, wiry and skinny, with a full beard, dreadlocks, and a bandanna on his head. 

The guy was chugging along, but instead of holding the elliptical machine handles, he was paddling. He was paddling with an invisible canoe oar, alternating sides of his invisible boat, with a pretty good rate of speed. I'd say whoever should prepare to be boarded didn't stand a chance. 

I really wanted to encourage him, but I didn't want him to think I was making fun of him. Because when I listen to This Way To The Egress on the elliptical, it's really hard for me to resist doing jazz hands. 

He kept it up for a pretty good while, too. 

YAR. 

So, it was Easter. And I have a 4 year old, the only kid in our extended family. So of course we plan an Easter egg hunt for her enjoyment. All told about 2 dozen hard-boiled eggs were colored and about a dozen plastic eggs were filled with treats.

After the kid went to sleep, and before my brother Thomas and I got too far into our evening drinking (he was working on a case of Millerlite, I was working through a bottle and a half of pinot grigio), we decided to put out the eggs. Thomas put out the eggs - all 30+ of them, making a nice looping path around my backyard.

I live in the part of suburbia that has sprawling parklike backyards, btw.

Come morning, the family gathered to watch my kid hunt Easter eggs. And she found one. Then two or three. But they were few and far between. At which point it dawned on us that perhaps leaving the eggs out overnight was not the wisest idea. She did find all the plastic eggs, which almost all still had treats inside. But only 5 of the 24 hardboiled eggs made it through the night.

Ah, wildlife. Don't know if it was squirrels or foxes or groundhogs or what, but I imagine they are fat and happy critters now. Love my home.

Easy Rider Yelp Reviews. 

BILLY: They say it's Non-Stop Pizza! We gotta get that, cause man, we gotta go! I mean, are you in or what? All I wanna know is, the Non-Stop Pizza... Where's it from, man? 

CAPT. AMERICA: If the pizza is non-stop...

(Pause)

(Pause)

(Pause)

(pause) 

...did it ever start? 

GEORGE: it's not so much the pizza itself but what the pizza represents. 

RAFELSON: So did you guys actually try the pizza? 

BILLY: No, man, we just saw the sign. 

CAPT. AMERICA: We blew it. 

Riffing: check out NASA administrator Charles Bowden looking the Balrog straight in the eye and bellowing "you... shall... not... pass!"

Warning: Barbie wants to take your child's brain into the cloud. Brr brr brr brr brr!

Plumbing: I replaced a tub spout today. Super easy, but I'm proud of myself anyway. Except this one is super noisy when you fill the tub, so I've ordered a nice Delta faucet with a pull-down diverter. The kind that automatically switches off the diverter when you stop the water. Which means no galactic conflict in the bathroom.

Reading: The Mammoth Book of SF Stories by Women. I bought it cuz Shari Lipkin's Valentines is in it. I dig that story.

The book is very uneven, some of the first stories in the book are poorly edited. Too many of them are lazy as science fiction. But others, like Alice Sola Kim's "The Other Graces," are excellent.

And truth be told, like most people I care more about an internally consistent story than I do about adhering to the tenets of "hard SF," although I admire that as a challenging creative constraint.

Wearing: I recently ordered three pairs of dockers online and they fit. Roberta approves of the way they fit. For a guy like me, that's a major fashion breakthrough.

I'm also wearing a super warm, super fuzzy flannel shirt. It doesn't match the pants, but it's a Saturday morning.

Planning: this weekend I'm gonna be a dead sexy man. I'm gonna be so dead sexy, I'm gonna install a shower diverter. Boom chickawaba.

Next week at P'unk Avenue we are celebrating our tenth anniversary. Holy crap. I've been there for most of that. Holy crap.

I am fortunate to work with friends and to look forward to work almost every day.

Two kids in spring soccer. I think that's the tipping point. I've hit that point where I can't keep all the balls in the air. (Insert ball joke here.)
I'm screwing up royally lately. I pride myself on keeping organized and controlled and being on time and getting things done and yet, for some reason, this week I have lost all ability to do so.
We have been late to multiple appointments, I forgot to bring soccer game snack for the whole team, we were late again, had no uniform, almost ran out of gas. Michael's snack bin is empty. I forgot to call the school counselor, I've made commitments to so many people, I can't remember who I've made the commitments to, let alone what they were. 
And Davis has entered the tween phase and I can't understand his reasoning and he finds me idiotic. And Samuel refuses to practice guitar and we are at a stonewall. The boys have spring fever too. They just want to play and do their activities and not study or practice or help. And I've already taken away lego privileges and kindle privileges and I'm running out of consequences I'm willing to implement.
There are so many different spring activities out in the world that we all want to do! Classes for the kids and camps and festivals and shows. I want to let both kids play soccer and do cub scouts and do music lessons and do coding and take skateboarding lessons, and tinker in the garage and Oh! Davis wants/needs to learn to type, he says all the other public school kids learned years ago, but he doesn't want to learn, he just wants to know, can I fit that in please? I want to sing in the church choir and take the UU leadership training, and learn a foreign language and be a CASA and volunteer in the schools and make time for all my friends and be a good listener and be available any time anyone needs me and be outside and picnic and cook some amazing recipes and do all the festivals and travel everywhere, and swim laps, and go to yoga, and, and, and. There's not enough time and money in the world to do all the amazing things that are out there. And even if I managed to pay for them and schedule them, I couldn't remember when and where and how I planned to do them.
I just want to do fun things and not be in charge of making it all happen. I don't want to help my kids be good citizens of the world. I don't want to remember Michael's work/sleep schedule and work around it. I don't want to enforce rules or any schedules. I want to lie around outside in the green grass, smell the purple flowers, bask in sunlight and drink wine and play with my friends. I have spring fever bad and I'm not sure I want the antidote.

My move happened a day early, due to an impending snowstorm. We made it work, and on the first day of Spring, met our neighbors while shoveling snow from the driveway. So, we have a pretty cool moving story to begin the book of memories we'll create in our new home.

What won't be included in the book is my mental state for the past week. The disruption of my physical things was more upsetting than anticipated. Add in a disrupted routine -- scouting out a new route for my morning walk with the dog, not being able to locate favorite shoes or clothes, stepping over boxes in every room -- and I have been a surly person and partner. 

I KNOW the chaos is temporary, but my brain just wouldn't stop turning it over and over and over. My partner called me out on it last night, and rightfully so. I don't want to be medicated right now, and am trying natural alternatives to alleviate anxiety. More sex, more exercise, an occasional drink. I think I'm winning? 

The boxes are being emptied and removed bit by bit, I found a great walking route this morning, my guy has proved more handy around the house than I ever would have imagined, and all of our old-but-good major appliances are running like champs. 

And, having lived in a townhouse for the past 10 years, I had forgotton the victorious feeling of getting the trash to the curb seconds before the truck comes. I did that this morning. I rule. 

"Let's get the band back together!"

By Canadian artist Marian Bantjes, this lovely illustration of a classic spam email is on display as part of the Fraktur exhibit at the Free Library of Philadelphia. I was amused. The show is free and well worth your time.