I listened! To myself!
Just before Jonanna Widner left SFR and Santa Fe, she handed me an envelope containing, ostensibly, a letter. I grabbed at it eagerly. It is one of my many strange traits that I seem to be in a constant state of suspended animation when it comes to the mail. I am always waiting for something exciting to come in the mail. Our previous receptionist used to laugh at me because every day I would go through the mail with great anticipation, only to slink away disappointed.
"Are you waiting for something?" she asked the first few times. After that she realized there wasn't anything in particular I was waiting for... I just can't help believe that something is going to arrive. I'm pretty sure this is some sort of weird and rare mental illness because, ya know, I get about a million pieces of mail a day and have for the last decade so, seriously, if it hasn't arrived yet it probably ain't coming.
But I digress (can one digress from something that has no point?).
Where was I?
Oh yes, Jonanna's letter.
Jonanna's letter, it turned out, was not from Jonanna. It was a letter I had written TO MYSELF, put in an envelope and handed to Jonanna to give back to me at the right moment (and let's just be clear, now and for all times, I am very weird sometimes).
I pasted the letter, IN ITS ENVELOPE, to the wall and hoped I would remember to read it at the right time as there is no one here, now that Jonanna is gone, who could be trusted for this task.
Here's the letter:
Dear Julia,
Go to the fucking doctor.
Love,
Julia
What it lacks in civility it makes up for in directness, n'est pas?
So, readers, I listened to myself, hoofed it over to ulti-med (ok, yes, I drove and I know it's only two blocks away. Does it look like global warming is in effect around here this week?). They gave me antibiotics and a prescription decongestant so that tomorrow, when I am stuck at jury orientation, at least my head won't explode all over the courtroom (although conceivably that might get me excused. Maybe.)
I have now been sick three times this year and this year is only TEN DAYS OLD. Here are my new year's resolutions (is there anything as lovely as a nonsequiteur? I think not? Is there any possibility that's actually how one spells nonsequiteur?)
Anyway, since I forgot to post my new year's resolutions before, here they are:
new year's resolutions
1. stop being sick
2. stop complaining about being sick
3. become fabulously independently wealthy
4. negotiate peace in sudan
And believe me, I am really tweaked that Bill Richardson beat me to #4. Ladies: Why do men always steal our thunder?
What is in these decongestants anyway?
"Are you waiting for something?" she asked the first few times. After that she realized there wasn't anything in particular I was waiting for... I just can't help believe that something is going to arrive. I'm pretty sure this is some sort of weird and rare mental illness because, ya know, I get about a million pieces of mail a day and have for the last decade so, seriously, if it hasn't arrived yet it probably ain't coming.
But I digress (can one digress from something that has no point?).
Where was I?
Oh yes, Jonanna's letter.
Jonanna's letter, it turned out, was not from Jonanna. It was a letter I had written TO MYSELF, put in an envelope and handed to Jonanna to give back to me at the right moment (and let's just be clear, now and for all times, I am very weird sometimes).
I pasted the letter, IN ITS ENVELOPE, to the wall and hoped I would remember to read it at the right time as there is no one here, now that Jonanna is gone, who could be trusted for this task.
Here's the letter:
Dear Julia,
Go to the fucking doctor.
Love,
Julia
What it lacks in civility it makes up for in directness, n'est pas?
So, readers, I listened to myself, hoofed it over to ulti-med (ok, yes, I drove and I know it's only two blocks away. Does it look like global warming is in effect around here this week?). They gave me antibiotics and a prescription decongestant so that tomorrow, when I am stuck at jury orientation, at least my head won't explode all over the courtroom (although conceivably that might get me excused. Maybe.)
I have now been sick three times this year and this year is only TEN DAYS OLD. Here are my new year's resolutions (is there anything as lovely as a nonsequiteur? I think not? Is there any possibility that's actually how one spells nonsequiteur?)
Anyway, since I forgot to post my new year's resolutions before, here they are:
new year's resolutions
1. stop being sick
2. stop complaining about being sick
3. become fabulously independently wealthy
4. negotiate peace in sudan
And believe me, I am really tweaked that Bill Richardson beat me to #4. Ladies: Why do men always steal our thunder?
What is in these decongestants anyway?
posted by Julia at 11:58 AM
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