Friday ramblings

I'm home sick and feeling like dog shit.  I have all of the joy of coughing up a lung and having my sinuses swollen and impassible, plus dizziness.  Whee.

I woke up really woozy at around midnight and couldn't get back to sleep, but getting up and doing anything left me really wobbly.  So I stayed in bed and practiced what I call "brain mining" -- trying to delve into the recesses of my noodle and see how far back in my life I can remember and what random memories I can dredge up.  I'll do things like mentally tour all the houses I've lived in, trace the route from each house to each school I attended, try to come up with the names of old friends and roommates and boyfriends, go back through old phone numbers and addresses, try to visualize every Thanksgiving dinner I've had, stuff like that.  It's kind of trippy.  I'm terrified of getting Alzheimer's, so in addition to constantly doing crosswords and Sudoku, I feel like brain mining exercises my synapses and helps ward off dementia.

I'd like to be able to get some sleep, but my brain seems to be rebelling against that notion these days.  I'll get these episodes that feel almost but not quite like panic attacks.  It's not the cold flush through my torso or tightening of my chest, but almost like my head is being slightly electrified -- there's a buzzing and a sensation like my cells are expanding, if that makes any sense. 

I dunno.  Maybe I'm nuts.  In any event, I started thinking about Michael Jackson and how he died from an overdose of Propofol, the drug that anesthesiologists use when they put you to sleep during surgery.  Apparently he suffered from horrible insomnia and was desperate for a decent night's sleep.  I can totally relate.

In the meantime, I'm home in bed, feeling queasy, doing some reading and going through AMC's Christmas movie lineup (when TNT isn't showing Law & Order reruns).  They showed You've Got Mail, which I never thought of as a Christmas movie.  I never liked the movie anyway, but watching it - or rather, having it on in the background while I lay in bed feeling sorry for myself -- made me realize that Meg Ryan plays the same uptight bitch in every romantic comedy she's in (including When Harry Met Sally, which I love notwithstanding that its two main characters are totally unlikeable).  I don't get her appeal at all.

J's supposed to go back to work on Monday.  Except that when he called in to touch base and find out where he's supposed to go, they asked him to come in this afternoon so they could talk to him.  Which means he's probably getting fired.  So now we've got that hanging over our heads.

Ugh.