You know what bothers me? Never being able to decide whether to Title My Posts in Standard Title Form Where Non-Articles and Non-Prepositions and Non-Conjunctions All Begin with a Capital Letter, or just to write "normally" in sentence case. Whenever I think I've made a decision, I change my mind. God but pondering these things has prepared me well for those long prairie winters of the 19th century, should they ever come up again.
Re the post title: I have one of those "skin splits" under one of my toes. You know, as if someone started trying to decapitate the little digit. (Or depiggyitate.) Or maybe you don't know if you've never neglected to wear your spa shoes at the gym and therefore had to have a long, long date with a tube of Tinactin. My question: is this kind of thing always a fungus?
I'm full of DayQuil and feeling better. I had a nap (of course) and dreamt up the most amazingly detailed plans for an elite self-help nightclub. It was so detailed I had to wake myself up - even in the dream I knew I had the sleeptime OCD *Quil thing happening and was working too hard. All I remember is the end bit where people could go in these pods where a psychiatrist would be on the other side of a confessional-style screen, and you'd swipe your credit card to start the service, which ran on a minute-by-minute meter that you (or maybe just management?) could see rolling over, dollar after dollar. I'm sure a good ten minutes of my sleep was spent trying to work out the best pricing scheme, which I've forgotten as well. ($110 for sixty minutes sounds familiar. Clearly, I'm in the wrong profession.)
Also, I think there was a provision for celebrities to stand in for the psychiatrist, so instead of Dr. Melfi you might get Billy Idol. I don't know if that would make a difference to the kind of person who would use these services. I'm not in therapy - I just have the vague impression that this is how people in New York spend money that other people spend on cars.
Seemingly a non-sequiter: Did you know there is a secret menu at Jamba Juice? (I hate the Jamba Juice at UNLV. The counter drones tend to make up their own prices then require an argument to acknowledge the posted ones - I went there three times and it happened twice.)
Nothing but half-days left at school, and me with the world's messiest classroom yet seemingly no time to get in there and fix it up. I just want to trash every extra handout. Sorry trees. Hopefully I'll be more or less over this cold tomorrow and will feel like standing on some chairs. (Which is utterly forbidden, something I didn't think about when we all got on top of the desks to take the Cr*ativ* Wr*t*ng "club" photo for the yearbook. Evidence! Then again, nobody said anything when an admin's assistant walked in on me photographing a student who was - deliberately, with my permission, but still - giving me the finger for the purpose of recreating a Johnny Cash moment. Great photo, though.)
Dad's upcoming (but still unscheduled) open-heart surgery remains the 600 lb gorilla in my head space. I want to relax and enjoy making summer plans to be shifted as needed, but I'm kept awake by how impossibly deep and desperate my debts will be if things don't go well. Yes, I'm stressed by the possibility of losing someone I love plus the logistics of packing up, transporting, and living with Mom + cat in the event of the worse case scenario, but it's easier to sing NA NA NA NA in my head and focus on the one thing I can control... money... which I'm totally not doing, as every dollar I spend on something non-essential (or, let's face it, completely frivolous) feels like a rebellion against the possibilities.
And God if defiant carpe diem injections haven't been churning my cogs of late... you should have checked me out with the overpriced, undermixed, sadly unsalted margarita at the Air Supply concert. WHOA.
It feels good to admit that I'm selfish and shallow and thinking of possible bills while creating actual ones when I should be worrying about the comfort and happiness of others. Who needs Billy Idol when they can blog?
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