the wonders of selective grammar usage

I know my voice isn't better simply not only because I can't sing along to my favorite songs, but I can't even mouth the words to them without my throat hurting.
I'm breaking out like crazy. It's as if I've got a five o'clock shadow of blemishes.
I can't drink water -- it just burns on the way down. I've also got a cat's tongue, or whatever that little saying was about one's mouth burning easily, so I'm really reluctant to drink anything hot.

Even though I can still have a good time if I'm voiceless, I didn't want to be like this. I was going to laugh on the streets on Manhattan, cut loose while singing in a soundproof room, take pictures with me actually in them liking the way I looked. I wanted to be able to tell him that I love him and have him hear it as well as know it. Damnit. I wanted everything to be perfect.

This wasn't how it was supposed to be.

fingers following, tracing lines
a multitude of imperfections reflected in the mirror
in my eyes, in my heart
a spiraling cycle of nagging self-doubt
grading on my curves
finding everything unsatisfactory

Playing Pump it Up: Exceed* isn't good for what should be my kicking back time, but I've got to do something or else I'll scream as loud as my half-hoarse, half-gone voice will let me.

I tried to brave an errand run today once my father got home from the family shindig (I'd have gone, if it weren't for the fact that I'm effin' sick and I would've felt bad if the birthday boy caught anything from his oldest cousin). Yeah... it technically worked, but the whole time I was just sore all over and hot beyond belief. I hope I'm not running a fever... or becoming a hypochondriac.

There's this place that opened up a few doors down from samedi's old workplace called Bubble Heaven. The fresh fruit combo I had was quite delicious -- kiwi mango, yum -- but the incessant high pitched voice over the speakers taunting me about how I wish I was hot or something? The disaffected youth behind the counter that barely noticed I was there the whole time? All the writing on the Polaroids on the wall with the letter S replaced with a Z?

Hopefully the Legion Way haunt's more palatable, drinks and otherwise.

As for Exceed, I'm enjoying it a lot more than I thought I would. The diagonal thing's not hard to get used to at all (except when doubles are concerned, eesh), and the music selection's quite nice. Vivaldi's "Winter" continues to kick my ass to high heaven, though. I called Gamestop and EB to see what the trade-in value would be, though... and $22 is the best I can get for it. $22?! To hell with that, I say. The game's still entertaining me, and if keeping it means that I have to wait until... forever to play Trauma Center or Phoenix Wright, then I guess that's my fate. Anyway, I'd feel kinda bad trading in my first supplied game from GotNext. It'd be like selling a memory for a candy bar.

I can't stress enough how much I suck at Exceed, though, a point I drive home quite a bit in the review. In Nick's rundown of the trip, he mentions that we're going play some DDR either on Friday or Saturday. Now, I'm hoping that we're speaking the same language, and that "we" translates into "Vin and I" or just "I, Nick, by myself" because there's no way you're going to get me to embarrass myself on those godforsaken machines in front of people. Nope. Nuh-uh. Even Tipsy Luana'd say no to that.

* - Oh, and I've decided that for LiveJournal purposes, the Umilicious Stylebook deems that all game titles will be bolded, since quotations don't feel right and I like to italicize for emphasis. Good lord, a reference material for my LiveJournal. I've reached new geeky lows.

I don't think I want to go into work tomorrow.  Scratch that -- I know I don't want to go into work tomorrow, but I don't know if I'm going to be well enough to make said trip.  Even though the shift is three hours shorter than my standard 3-12, that's still five-and-a-half hours on my feet. 

When I came to the realization that I spent an eighth of my day trying to get the knots out of a tangled ball of yarn, I waited for God to come down from his throne of righteousness and smite me for sloth.  Sloth or just pathetic loser-ness.  I can't decide which.  I should've bought Indigo Prophecy -- at least I would have been entertained while being lame.

Since the Cellular Phone Debacle of 2005 had its way with me financially and emotionally, Nick time has been restricted to a couple of hours past 6 pm PST (not including the occasional twenty minutes after his daily classes).  He told me about what we're going to do on Friday... all of these places that I'd always dreamed about going to, I'll actually be at come one week from now.  I know it must seem so anticlimactic for you hardened New Yorkers, but I've never done anything quite like this.  I mean, yes, I did go to downtown LA not knowing what I was getting into, but I'd been to Southern California before.  NYC, from what I understand, is so much city crammed into not so much mileage.  Everything here in Washington is sprawling... I mean, I live in Olympia, but I don't really live in Olympia, if you know what I mean.  If I felt weird not being able to see the stars in Maryland, I can only imagine what it'll feel like in a city that most literally never sleeps.

The best thing is, well, the fact that Digital Life is more like an obligation than anything else... and yet it's technically the reason why I'm heading there.  Heh.  Life is full of technicalities, hm? Here's to hoping that Vin and Bill'll want to hit the karaoke box with us on Friday night (please? pretty please?).

Well, time to head to work and pick up some soup and medicine, and maybe... maybe hint to Sir Matt* about driving me to the airport, since I'm not sure I'll be there tomorrow and I'd like to figure this out as soon as humanly possible.

* - I decided that, since there're too many Matts that read this (meaning more than one), I'm going to classify them.  We have Matt (xtcdukes takes precedence over you all, sorry), Sir Matt (work Matt), FortNinety Matt, and Caesar Matt (because whenever Nick mentions any Matt, it's followed by me asking "Caesar?").  This does not include Nick's brother, his childhood friend, or any other Matts that I may have known at one point or another.

(sigh)

I've been put on house arrest, so to speak. Upon finding out that I was getting worse and not better, Dr. Nick told me that any plans of mine to go out and run errands, etcetera were getting canceled right then and there. The only thing I am to do today is snuggle in bed and keep from doing anything at all. Basically, he's resigned me to knitting, eating soup/drinking tea (neither of which I actually have in the house), and posting in the good ol' LiveJournal.

Oh, and finishing up my GotNext review. That too.

When I told him that going out and buying soup could easily turn into a thirty-minute ordeal -- me staring at the infantry of cans, an army of Andy Warhol associations -- he asked if there was anyone that could make a soup/tea run for me. My heart let out a little yelp when he said that, for there really isn't anyone around here who could do that. The closest people who would are either sixty miles away or, well, close... but not sure if they're that close. Does that make sense? Well, actually, I'm fairly sure that they're that close, but even if I did have any way of getting a hold of them, I wouldn't dream of asking them to do such a thing.

Actually, that goes for all my friends, even if they were around here.

... it's weird, because when I think of soup runs, I'll always remember running off with Agent 00-Care-Bear to our friend Brandon's house to drop off a ginormous can of Campbell's Chicken Soup.

I guess the real reason why I don't want to just lay here and fester in my illness would be because I don't want to be in this house by myself for too long. At least if I go to the mall or to Target or even to work (which I very well may do to pick up some medicine), at least there'll be hustle. bustle. movement. Everything's so still in this house, so stagnant. Even if I were cleaning with the CD player blasting, at least I'd have something to keep the funk at bay. As of right now, with me just trying to lay in bed as much as possible, every little thought is given a chance to sink in and grab hold of my psyche.

It doesn't help that I had a pretty big fight with my mother about half-an-hour ago, in which she basically said that I don't care about the rest of the family. I'm telling you, the cure for a head cold isn't getting choked up and on the defense.

I'm just ready for this week to be over. There's been just too much everything for me to deal with.

No, that's not a typo... I'm just getting sick.

I'll be okay, though.  I'm trying that Airborne dietary supplement.  I don't know -- kinda seems gimmicky/placebo-ish, but it's worth a shot.  It may be my day off and all, but I'd rather not spend both of 'em sick.

Again with the quiet.  Again with the silence.  The seconds slowly tick by as I wait impatiently for six o'clock to roll around.

Exactly one week from now, the last great adventure of the year will be beginning.  I can't wait.