But other than THAT…

So, last week was…eventful. Although I suppose technically, it wasn’t so much last week being eventual as last week being when a whack of existing Crazy all decided to come together in a tsunami of scurrying around like a demented hamster on Red Bull.

I started my new job last week Wednesday, which of course has resulted in a complete and utter breakdown of my entire life. I can’t find anything. I have no idea where I’m going. I can’t remember what forms I’ve filled out, and which ones I haven’t. I know I’ve forgotten something, but have no idea what category to look in to figure out what I’ve forgotten.

Meanwhile in other news…Skyrim. Oh yes, it has bitten me. For those who are not crazy people suffering from a serious case of arrested development, this is a video game. A deeply immersive video game. One that should possibly be investigated as possibly being way too addictive.

I strongly suspect it should be available only by prescription. Or possibly put on the…whatever that list is called for drugs that are highly addictive and have no medicinal purposes whatsoever. It is the sort of game that makes time do strange things – like, get this, I literally thought I was playing for “just” a couple hours while the boys were watching their UFC.

And then, like, six hours had gone by. I didn’t realize how much time had actually passed until I suddenly became aware that the light was changing outside. (And of course, the husband didn’t march in to admit that his show was over because that would have meant I would have been all, “OK! Let’s go take care of that yardwork, woo hoo!” so instead he put on another show, and then another one, and pretty much kept that up so that every time I would pause the game to listen for “his show” still going on, by golly, I heard something that sounded like his show still going on…)

I have to actually set a timer for myself whenever I play this stupid game. It’s ridiculous. It also doesn’t help that the husband thinks it is “cute” when I disappear into this realm of Advanced Geekdom (where I am a Level 42 Dork, thank you very much). He actually encourages this behavior! (Because it gets him out of doing work himself, see digression above for example that’s how swell a guy he is, always looking out for my R&R needs and such.)

PLUS, I have been having…well…girl-issues. And while I think we’re on the way to resolved there, we are also…not EXACTLY resolved.

And the treatment is making me extremely nauseous. (Birth control pills. Hated them then, still hate them now. Also, blech!)

WHICH REMINDS ME…guess what happened yesterday?

SO, one of the Denizens decided that it was necessary for her to have the reading light on over her seat. And since it was broad frickin’ daylight at the time (don’t start me), whoever was driving at the time didn’t notice it was on. (We shall also ignore that I have on numerous occasions informed the Other Parties Old Enough To Be Driving that the master kill-switch for said lights should always be in the ‘off’ position, because of exactly this, which has now happened at least three times and I thought I said ‘don’t start me’ so why am I starting me…?)

Thus it was left on, until Homer the Odyssey’s battery was completely dead – so dead that the remote entry system wouldn’t unlock anything. So dead that there wasn’t even a click-click-click when we tried to start him.

So we come to Monday morning at 9:00, when we were piling into him to head to a friend’s house. We knew the van was dead, so we got out the jumper cables, hooked Homer up to Albert the Civic and vroom! - Homer roared back to life.

And by “roared” I mean “honked and flashed his lights.”

For.
Ten.
Straight.
Minutes.

(Which is a lot longer when you’re sitting in a noisily-honking vehicle than it is while watching your favorite show or something. Trust me on this.)

SEE, the battery was so dead that Homer couldn’t tell that what had started him up was an authorized key. AS AN ADDED BENEFIT TO US, Honda has added this thing where the key itself has a microchip that tells the van that the key in the ignition is a “real” key. If he doesn’t “see” that microchip, he assumes he is being stolen.

Yeah. It was awesome. I had to sit there like an idiot in that noisy vehicle, waiting for it to have just enough charge that I could use the remote entry system again – thus reassuring Homer that yeah, it really IS me, Stupid!!

{rubs temples}

Have you ever suspected that the Universe was just messin’ with you?

Yeah, so I wasn’t all that surprised when I got the message from the lab that my blood work was in and, well, there was a THING there.

Sometimes, I rather dislike the super-informed world that we live in. Because I suspect I saw these results before the doctor who ordered the tests did, and thus I have been groaning and grimacing to myself all day, waiting for the phone call from his office.

Mind you, I’m not a doctor or anything, but when I cast my mind over the last about two months and am tallying up at least five separate infections I’ve had from my sinuses to my…well, let’s gloss over that…call me crazy, but I’d say that me having rather elevated white blood cell counts right now would be perfectly normal and even expected, really.

If I were a doctor (which again, I’m not, but, let’s pretend), I would say, “OK, given All That, how about if we wait x-many weeks and do another test to see if they’ve gone down in the meantime.”

This is because I can think of a thousand and five other things I’d rather be doing with my time than going in for endless tests and other expensive and/or painful and/or embarrassing and/or pointless things am rather conservative when it comes to Such Things.

It’s like the old least said, soonest mended thing. Only it’s more like least irritated, soonest healed up.

And I know, I know in my heart of hearts, that this yahoo is going to jump all over this and rush me around for full-body scans and whackity-majillion tests and after everybody and his uncle has fondled every last one of your parts, let’s throw fifteen medications at it and after many annoyances it will transpire that I just hadn’t actually taken the infections to the mat the way I thought I had. Or that I did, but, my white blood cells are still preening and posing in front of mirrors, bristling their muscles at each other and saying, “I’ll be back!” in accents thicker than any of the Terminator iterations. And possibly writing their names in the snow before pounding back a few beers and then attempting to use a popcorn maker to heat the whirlpool they just built in the back of somebody’s pickup truck using a whole lot of yard waste bags and duct tape.

That’s how bright I suspect my white blood cells are. Plug’er in, Joe, see what she does! {ZZZZZZZOT!} Woooooo, free perm! Looks good on ya, buddy! Har-dee-har-har-har!!!

I have no idea where I’m going with all this. But I do know that right now, I am not defeating the minions of darkness with my bad archery skills. Coupled with rather impressive thieving wealth redistribution talents.

(Dudes…I can sneak up on a fox and grab it with my bare hands. That is how bad I am.)

(You know, in…uh…the…video…yeah, um, never mind…)

(I totally owe you pictures of the garden. I built a bean trellis yesterday, but it is too dark to take a picture of it right now. It is so “country chic” it looks like it should have cost a lot of money or something. Determinedly Rustic Bean Trellis, $280. But it’s actually just random scrap wood from the tree removal and some recycled twine from some other thing I did at some point. Is it a vegetable garden, or is it art? All depends on the eye of the beholder, oui…?)