No, that entry yesterday was not to indicate that I’d had a flat tire recently; I haven’t had a flat tire in many, many years. If I were to write an entry about how to change a flat tire these days, it would read: "Retrieve cellphone from purse; call AAA." Though of course that could bring up a slew up fuckedupness when I discovered that my cellphone was uncharged, or I’d left it at home, or our AAA membership had lapsed. Here in BitchyLand, there’s always some small detail to fuck everything up.

In the mail today, I received a huge catalog from Pallotta Teamworks detailing their events for next year. I haven’t looked through it yet, because I know once I do, I’ll want to sign up to crew every single event, and Himself wouldn’t much be liking that. If JournalCon’s going to be taking place in the fall, chances are good I’ll pick an event in the spring or summer to crew, so they won’t conflict.

Other things I’ve received in the mail recently include Pain Management, the newest Burke book by Andrew Vachss, which the wonderful Athena bought for me off my wish list, because she’s awesome (I’m almost done with that book, and just let me say – I love me some Burke!). I’ve also received several cool homemade stamped cards from women on one of Teresa‘s mailing lists, which was a nice surprise. Have I mentioned how much I love surprises, both giving and receiving?

And last but not least, I received something I ordered last week, and for which I’ve been waiting impatiently. This:

That particular purchase would be the fault of the Bitter one, who linked last week to High Cotton‘s webpage, and once I saw that doormat, it was all over. It cracks me up to no end, between the sentiment – "the cat don’t"! Hee! – and the font it’s written in.

Oh, and while I’m a linking fool, I don’t want to forget to link Melissa, who’s leaving in a day and a half for Dublin to run a marathon to benefit the AIDS Foundation. Go, Melissa! God knows you’d never catch ME running, unless it was to catch the ice cream truck…

I woke up this morning feeling rather crappy – in fact, I didn’t even get out of bed until 8:15, and that only because Fred called to tell me something and said, all judgemental-like "Oh, you’re still in BED, you lazy bitch?!" (or something like that)*, and so I started feeling guilty and forced myself out of bed, head aching and reeling, and forced myself into my yellow shirt and black spandex/ coolmax shorts (you understand that no one ever actually SEES me in the shorts, right? Wouldn’t want anyone to pass out from the horror of it all), and toddled downstairs, climbed onto the bike to do my 20 minutes of ass-kicking cardio…

And crapped out after 5 minutes.

Then took a shower and went back to bed and watched TV until 11:30, when I needed to go run errands, after which I came home and laid about the house, napping and just generally feeling like crap.

At some point I looked up the signs of Anthrax inhalation (or whatever the hell it’s called), and discovered that I’m too phlegmy for it to be that, so perhaps I’m merely coming down with the flu.

I actually feel a little better tonight, maybe because I woke up right before the spud got home and saw a big-ass spider on the ceiling directly over my head, glaring down at me and rubbing two of his 60 legs together, with a look in his eyes that clearly conveyed "I wonder if I could get her wrapped up before she wakes up?", and so I rolled off the couch like the hounds of hell were after me, and the adrenalin forced the blood through my veins, waking me up and making that blah feeling go away.

But just in case, I think I’ll go sit on my ass and read some more. ‘Cause, y’know, I never get enough of sitting on my ass…

*Okay, so maybe he didn’t actually SAY the "lazy bitch" part, and maybe he only sounded slightly surprised instead of judgemental, but it’s MY journal and I’ll exaggerate if I want to.