I love him, I love him, I love him, I love him (she loves him, she loves him, she loves him, she loves him)

Well. I was feeling much better by, oh, the end of Thursday. Thanks to all for the well wishes and admonitions to take care.
I got some chores done Thursday evening. Friday morning I worked out for the first time in a week - and, dear Maude, could I ever tell it had been a week. I tried to do my usual workout, but I didn't take in to consideration the residual weakness from illness and days of bed rest. I could barely make it through to the end.

Friday afternoon I had lunch on campus with Duncan. I picked up some Vietnamese food and we ate outside of his building. It was nice.

After picking Haven up at school, we headed straight to Redmond, where we saw that damn Lord of the Rings movie with J. It was his third time 'round, but our first.

What did I think? Um. Well. What a fuckin' ride! I chewed off my thumbnail and left fingertip-sized dents in Duncan's leg. I have not read the book(s), so I had no idea what was in store. I was, literally, in an adrenaline-laden clench for three hours. The action was constant, and I felt battered by the end. The membrane between me and film tends to dissolve, so there's frequently little emotional separation between me and what's happening on the screen.
What this means, of course, is that the film was breathtakingly well-done. Beyond evocative. I wanted to look away but I could not - I had to know what was going to happen. I kept saying to Duncan, "I hate this movie", which I meant in the same way that I hate a sweeps episode of "ER" - it was making an emotional mess of me, and I was held in its thrall.
I leaned over to Duncan and said, "If you think I'm going to go through this two more times, you are out of your mind!" He laughed and replied, "Ha! You are so hooked!" He's right.
And, oh, it was so beautiful, the movie. So incredibly gorgeous.

Saturday I went too see Kissing Jessica Stein with J and the loverly NK. It was fun. A smart movie, and the sellout Hollywood ending was well-handled. And some mad cute girls, too. And one very cute boy! Eye candy, brainy dialogue, and friends - not a bad way to spend an afternoon.
I'm now running around saying shiksa as frequently as possible. This may be my favorite word of the (pitifully small) Yiddish I picked up living in South Florida.
I said plotz the weekend before last, and I got the funniest "how do you know that word?" look from J.

But! Saturday night! I went with Pinky to see David Sedaris (*swoon*) at the Paramount Theater. Oh oh oh. He is so amazing and fabulous. I laughed so hard I had tears running down my cheeks. He also told one of the best stories I have ever heard, which made me cry in a completely different way. His voice is wonderful, of course, as listeners of public radio will know. And he's a brilliant storyteller. I so wanted to tuck him into the trunk and bring him home with me.
After the show, we went and got him to autograph my program. I have never gotten an autograph from someone before, and, intellectually, I try to avoid participating in the whole cult of celebrity thing. Did my intellectualizing it make me any less of a giggly, speechless fangirl starfucker? Why, no, it did not. I couldn't think of one thing to say. Not one. Pinky introduced herself and me and then handed the program to him, telling him that the autograph was for me. He said, "Is it S-A-R-A-H?" "No," I said, "S-A-R-R-A." He said, "Sarra, what kind of fucked-up spelling is that?" SWOON. I just told him that my dad was a hippie and a pothead. Pinky made small talk about North Carolina, but I just stood there, silent and grinning like a fool. Then we said "thank you" and dashed off. Pinky gave me permission to squeal, so I did, jumping up and down with nervous giggles and relief (and, yes, some minor schoolgirl-like squealing).

I did not ask him to leave Hugh and come join my stable of gay boyfriends, though I wanted to. Nor did I propose, though I wanted to.

So, he wrote, "Sarra - so glad to finally meet you!"
And, yes, I am such a nerd that I will put it in a frame.

So, it was a very good weekend, and I was feeling so well, and relieved to no longer be sick.
Until Sunday night, when I started feeling distinctly cold-like symptoms. Sneezing, runny nose, scratchy throat, congestion. I kept telling myself it was allergies, but I had the fatigue, body aches, fever, and complete lack of energy that I usually experience when I am getting a cold.
And now, 36 hours later, I am sick. AGAIN. I couldn't sleep past 4:30 this morning because my throat hurts so much and I can't breathe through my nose.
I'm so tired of being sick. It's not even remotely funny anymore. I have essentially been sick for, like, 9 weeks. One thing ends and another thing steps in to take its place. It's a bit ridiculous, I think, and incredibly draining.
I'm taking better care of myself than I have in a few years, and I'm constantly ailing. What gives?

Anyway, I'm going to drink some milk and see if I can't get back to sleep. I have to go grocery shopping and to group therapy today, so I need to be as rested as possible.