Crash
This week was a hectic mania of work, panicking about the non-work things that got thrust by the wayside, and drinking caffeinated beverages to maintain the frenzy. Well it all come to a head on Saturday. Usually on weekends I don't drink caffeine at all, and by 2 pm the crunching, crushing, disastrous withdrawal headache that had begun to set in was irreversible, even by the quick application of two cups of tea. Nursing my head with two ibuprofen on the bed an hour later, I desperately tried to organize social activity for the evening, hoping against hope that I would recover. But after an early snack-dinner, I only managed to add nausea to my list of lamentations, and eventually just gave up, cancelled everything, and went to bed. It was only a bit after 5 pm. I slept blissfully until Julien came to bed at about 11:30, failed to sleep, got up, ate a snack, went back to bed, and didn't get up until 8:30.
All night I dreamed that my throat was growing a culture of bacteria, much like a horrible version of a ripe, old blue cheese. It wasn't the greatest surprise that I woke to a profound sore throat. I made a vow not to get out of my pajamas, and spent the rest of the day resting on the couch. Monsieur was a trooper and must've spent at least six hours of the day sleeping on my chest.
I finished du Maurier's "Trilby", which had been delightful at first in its fusion of French and English, but had palled in the end, with it's gallingly dated anti-Semitism, and it was with the greatest relief that I moved on to Ellen Kushner's "Swordspoint". It appeared to be the very predictable sort of fantasy sludge (Renaissance-era) that I gulped down in quantity in my adolescence and subsequently lost the taste for. However, this one was remarkably well done, and rather daring as well, for it's time (and perhaps even still), in her romances. I leave the rest for the curious reader to discover for himself, with a glowing commendation.
In the late afternoon, Julien and I caught up with the last two episodes of "Heroes", both of which I felt rather dreary and preachy, and having much of the unpleasantness of Season 3. Let's hope it gets better from here on out. Just now, Julien treated us to a Belgian feast of endive salad, pan-fried potatoes, and mussels boiled to perfection in a concoction of white wine, garlic, onions, and parsley. It was to die for!
Needless to say, I'm feeling much better now, though the Sunday dreads have certainly set in. I'm wondering if I should start in on that backlog of 60 work emails now, or if I should just resign myself to an early wakeup instead. Trending toward the latter...
All night I dreamed that my throat was growing a culture of bacteria, much like a horrible version of a ripe, old blue cheese. It wasn't the greatest surprise that I woke to a profound sore throat. I made a vow not to get out of my pajamas, and spent the rest of the day resting on the couch. Monsieur was a trooper and must've spent at least six hours of the day sleeping on my chest.
I finished du Maurier's "Trilby", which had been delightful at first in its fusion of French and English, but had palled in the end, with it's gallingly dated anti-Semitism, and it was with the greatest relief that I moved on to Ellen Kushner's "Swordspoint". It appeared to be the very predictable sort of fantasy sludge (Renaissance-era) that I gulped down in quantity in my adolescence and subsequently lost the taste for. However, this one was remarkably well done, and rather daring as well, for it's time (and perhaps even still), in her romances. I leave the rest for the curious reader to discover for himself, with a glowing commendation.
In the late afternoon, Julien and I caught up with the last two episodes of "Heroes", both of which I felt rather dreary and preachy, and having much of the unpleasantness of Season 3. Let's hope it gets better from here on out. Just now, Julien treated us to a Belgian feast of endive salad, pan-fried potatoes, and mussels boiled to perfection in a concoction of white wine, garlic, onions, and parsley. It was to die for!
Needless to say, I'm feeling much better now, though the Sunday dreads have certainly set in. I'm wondering if I should start in on that backlog of 60 work emails now, or if I should just resign myself to an early wakeup instead. Trending toward the latter...