To all those who’ve checked up on me after the sicky bubs post:
thanks
and
I’m ok.
Status report: as per usual, the second wave of serious head cold (which, incidentally, also struck down my father this week – in two rounds – no doubt an indication of the vulnerability of small-nostrilled people to this sort of thing) has settled in comfortably, and almost a week later, while I have now been out of the house all of 3 times, I now have the horrible ear thing again.
While it mightn’t sound so terrible to have blocked ears, it’s kind of awful for someone who relies on their ears as much as I do. It’s difficult to dance when your balance is screwed and your awareness of your surroundings stuffed by unreliable hearing. It’s bloody difficult to judge sound levels when you’re DJing through an ear’s worth of goob. And riding your bike is terrifying when you can’t hear approaching cars or balance properly.
But I have a doctor’s appointment booked for tomorrow, so either she’ll look inside and be frightened enough by what she sees to syringe me to blessed unimpededness, or she’ll see nothing and I’ll have another day on the kick-you-on-your-arse decongestants. The latter is always a joy for someone as responsive to these sorts of drugs as I am. I am sure The Squeeze is looking forward to mildly-psychotic and scarily insomniac speed freak girl as much as I am.
On (un)related fronts, Angel and everyone else are dealing with the Darla/Drusilla fallout (don’t you just LOVE those episodes?) and Buffy is freaking out under a pile of narratively excessive dramas: Glory’s nabbed Dawn/the key, Spike is hot for Bot-love (and yes, he is kinda small, but pretty compact and well-muscled, Xander), Tara has been brain-drained by Glory and of course, Joyce has just passed away.
