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June 30, 2005

A few disconnected things

- The only thing worse than being sick with a fever when you're by yourself is being sick with a fever of only 99.5 when you're by yourself, because even if someone were there with you they wouldn't feel all that sorry for you.

- Driving home tonight, stuck in traffic and engaging in my favorite pastime of raking myself over the coals, I suddenly remembered that as recently as a decade ago, I used to have a somewhat pathological desire to be liked. I wonder what happened to it.

- Whatever this ailment is I've had the last couple days involves rather unpleasant GI symptoms. Nothing major or debilitating, but I had to excuse myself from the office a few times today to head down the hall. On one such visit, I was sitting in the stall minding my own business when some guy came in, shook the door to my stall. There were two empty stalls in there as well, but for some reason he really wanted mine. He assumed, I think, that the door must just have been stuck. I said, rather gruffly, that the stall was occupied. He sighed dramatically, went to the adjacent stall, shut the door, had a seat, and then pulled out his cell phone and started transacting some sort of very important business. Loudly. In one of those voices that says "I drive a Hummer and park in the handicap space."
For once, my intestines were on the side of decency and good manners. I won't go into detail, other than to say the resulting noise was loud, and graphic, and prolonged. It took a while for the echoes to die out. After, his voice was notably more subdued. "No," he said. "I'm outside, on the corner. Yeah. Traffic noise." So I hit the flush lever.

- Thistle has been mopy. He misses Becky. He spends most of his evenings under the glass-topped coffee table with my Eocene fish fossils in it, stretching out on the Afghan rug, listening with eyes closed as Becky stands nearby and plays her violin. He's seemed out of sorts with her gone, dissatisfied in his spot under the table. So I lay there on the floor with him for a while, and though he graciously allowed me to pet him he was acting pretty surly - mock charges and grunts and such.
So I turned on the boombox, started playing a CD with some of the pieces Becky plays. The fiirst few chords rang out, and he came out from under the table to look for her. Not finding her, he settled in, closed his eyes, and relaxed into the music. His ears twitched with the movement of the bow. I thought of Bugs Bunny conducting the orchestra with his prehensile ears.

- I am tired of being sick.

Posted by Chris Clarke at June 30, 2005 10:33 PM TrackBack URL for this entry:
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Comments

chris--nice job on reminding the cell-phone talker and the person on the other end where the call was coming from and get well soon! being sick is no fun.

Posted by: Sean at July 1, 2005 05:56 AM
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For some reason I hate being sick in the summertime more than I hate being sick in the winter. I dunno why. Just do.

Posted by: Roxanne at July 1, 2005 06:49 AM
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Ever hear Vaughn William's piece "The Lark Ascending"? An SF writer described it as "the most beautiful piece of music ever written." I'm pretty sure that spot is taken by Wham's "Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go," but still, "Lark" would be a pretty good bunny-calmer.

Re the bathroom stall noises. I haven't had to use it yet, but I thought up a reply for this unpleasant eventuality: "Sorry about the noise, but hey, I can barely control the sounds that come out of this top hole. I take NO responsibility for what comes out the bottom."

And I hope you feel better.

Posted by: Hank Fox at July 1, 2005 07:46 AM
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Hey, if I reach 99.2 I'm such a mizable wretch no one wants to be near be, let alone feel sorry for me. That you can still be funny impresses the hell out of me.

Get well soon. Take lots of echinacea. Just kiddin'. About the echinacea part.

Posted by: doghouse riley at July 1, 2005 08:10 AM
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feel better. ya rude bunny hugger :)

Posted by: Anne at July 1, 2005 09:07 AM
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Clearly, Hank, you have neglected to memorize every word I've ever written. Some friend you are.

Posted by: Chris Clarke at July 1, 2005 09:12 AM
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I hope you feel better soon...like right now...this instant. Well you know what "they" say, Tequila will kill all those bad germs

Posted by: Blue at July 1, 2005 09:50 AM
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I hope you feel better, too. But at least some good came out of your illness.

Interesting about Thistle and the music. That's something that would be very cool to see. Not to mention the fossil coffee table.

Posted by: Rana at July 1, 2005 10:11 AM
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even if someone were there with you they wouldn't feel all that sorry for you Plus, you write too well to be really sick. (Shouldn't you be taking this opportunity to get off caffeine? You're already miserable, so why not descend into the depths of misery? I mean, just to liven things up. And to spare your wife the agony.)

I loved the bathroom story.

Posted by: Dave at July 1, 2005 02:32 PM
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So sorry you're sick, Chris, but your bathroom story is hilarious! (still chuckling)

Cute bunny story, too. Hope Becky will be back soon to take care of you two sad sacks.

Posted by: leslee at July 1, 2005 04:26 PM
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I'm reminded of when my eldest was a baby/toddler. We knew to take her temperature when she was cranky, and it never failed...hope you feel better.

Posted by: anon at July 1, 2005 06:48 PM
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I just discovered your blog this morning, and I love it already! Especially the bathroom story. Ha ha, take that hummerman! :)

Posted by: DrunkenLagomorph at July 2, 2005 08:19 AM
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