Sunday, February 26, 2006


You would think that my cold would have improved by now, but it so has not. Friday night my friend Clare came over to store some things in my flat since she was moving out of her flat on Saturday morning. I stood on a rolly chair in my bedroom, shoving bags of Clare's things into the cupboards above my closet. Then I started coughing so violently that the chair sped across the room and I went flying in the other direction. For a moment I thought I had landed on the ceiling.

Last night I had two glasses of wine at a dinner party and fell asleep on my friend Kris's sofa. When I awoke underneath layers of fabric three hours later I discovered that my body was being used as the coat check. But I was very warm. The last time I fell asleep at a party was in Nineteen Ninety Never.

My flatmate Peter told me that yesterday afternoon I was apparently blowing my nose at ear-shattering decibels but suddenly stopped, keeled over for a power nap, and then awoke 20 minutes later to blow the other nostril. And all the while I just thought I blew my nose so hard I got dizzy.

This afternoon I decided to make homemade soup since I was sick of eating the canned shit. I do not have a domestic bone in my body; making toast is 'cooking' for me, and it's a difficult task for which I always feel accomplished if I don't burn the bread. It took me like two hours to dice carrots, parsnips, potatoes, etc. for the Spicy Winter Vegetable soup recipe I was attempting. All was going well until I used the handheld food processor and exploded chunky brownish green soup all over the kitchen walls, appliances, and myself. After I bellowed loudly through my congested head, Peter dashed into the kitchen to find me standing there with soup dripping down my head.

I need some more weekend. I am mortifed of what might happen while teaching my Monday morning class.

Be careful of reading health books. You may die of a misprint. - Mark Twain