2005-11-29 - 10:52 a.m.

November 27, 2005

Ugh.

Well. I am worrying less about sneaky cancers as of about 2am last night, when my streak (a la Seinfeld) of TWELVE YEARS was broken. I should record the date, I suppose. Hopefully I can go another 12 years. Preferably LONGER.

I spent the night sleeping on memory foam in the hallway just outside the bathroom so I wouldn't bother Poindexter with my waking up every half hour. Then I spent most of the day sleeping and sipping water or broth. I haven't had anything to eat but a cracker two hours ago, and I'm not certain the cracker was a great idea. *sniffle* I'm so hungry but I feel terrible.

Poindexter has been giving me sympathetic looks and "poor thing"s from across the room. I won't let him too close in case I'm contagious. I hope he doesn't catch it.

November 29, 2005

How can I feel worse today than I did yesterday? I don't get it. I'm not having symptoms anymore but I feel run-down and queasy still. This sucks.

[Much later]

Well, I took a nap and ate a bunch and feel a bit better. Even even ventured out to the Wawa for ham and more ginger ale. I'm drinking my ginger ale out of a wine glass. Poindexter thinks that I feel shitty because I'm not eating enough, so I'm trying to remedy that. Problem is when I feel queasy it's hard to think of things I want to eat. I always want Indian food, but I don't know if my system is ready for that yet.

Poindexter is unwrapping his new monitor. He is GIDDY. He's been hemming and hawing over getting one since the spring and finally went for it.

Last night Poindexter was telling me some of the workplace "gossip", if you can call it that. Really it just means "little details of people's personal lives that come up in conversation". He has always had an interest in people's personal lives that is unusual for a guy, and he chalks it up to growing up in a house with two women. Papa didn't join the family 'til Poindexter was 11, so I guess by then it was too late for any male anti-gossip influence. Most guys, you know, a guy will get together with a male friend and they talk about sports the entire time, don't even ask how the wife is doing. And if the topic even somehow accidentally comes up, the information doesn't get passed along to the wives. Poindexter, on the other hand, asks people nosy questions and follow-up questions and then comes home and tells me what he learned. He's far nosier than I am. We never tell anyone else about this stuff (who would we tell?), we just discuss it between the two of us because we both find it fascinating. He likes to keep up with all of you on LiveJournal as well -- he'll e-mail me or come home and ask me, "What's up with the freaks?"

Evelynne: It's pretty amazing that you are genuinely interested in that kind of "fluff" about people.
Poindexter: It must be because I'm a hill person.
Evelynne: 'Cause you're a hillbilly? What, are you going all PC on me now? "Hill person"?!
Poindexter: A "person of elevation".

Poindexter has been my hero the last few days. He finished all of the taping and painting of trim (which I was supposed to help with) by himself, he's been walking home by himself, and he even went to the grocery store today to pick up some food for me that I couldn't get at the market or Wawa. He was joking to his coworker that "I figured you were milking this sick thing, making me shop and take public transportation."

I sent him a short list of grocery items, one of which was this:

"Muffins (multi-grain or 12-grain but NOT honey wheat or whole wheat or 'light' whole grain with 8 grams of fiber)"

I like my whole grains, but I don't like whole wheat, see. This is part of why I do the shopping instead of Poindexter. So he doesn't have to deal with my super-pickiness.

And Poindexter wrote back:

"Got your list. I read the muffin line to [coworker]. He thought I was kidding."

He had no trouble with the muffins, but he had to almost literally chisel my Weaver chicken tenders out of the back of the freezer where they were hiding. He said, "They had patties, they had drumsticks, they had croquettes, they had popcorn buffalo chicken, they had honey batter-dipped tenders, but I didn't see any regular tenders. Then I saw them lurking in the back encased in a block of ice."

The man PAYS ATTENTION. And he delivers. He is the most wonderful man on the planet.

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