I'm a bad, bad journaler, and I'm sorry. My life got away from me, which means you had nothing of interest to read whenever you visited. Let me rectify that, in a series of November updates that allow you to see *why* I never got around to telling you about it. Let's rewind to where last we parted...mid-November, actually.

If I had updated *properly* on 11/13, you would have gotten quite a story.

Story 1: West Virginia, Pennsylvania, and Maryland (which looks like Wisconsin, but don't tell people on the East Coast. They'll be pissed)

Had a marvelous time with Tio y Tia in Morgantown; we drove around on Saturday and toured Kentuck Knob and attempted Fallingwater, along with everyone else trying to hold on to the last of the good weather. Frank Lloyd Wright--fascinating man, and entirely obsessed with right angles. Seeing as I live near the FLL epicenter (Oak Park), it was interesting and all, but not earth-shattering. I love the Prairie Style, but by the time he did these homes, he was bored with it. Did you know that some English lord came over and bought up some FLL houses? What's some Brit doing, owning seminal and incredible American Art? What's wrong with Americans? Are they incapable of buying, say, AMERICAN ART? Sheesh. Anyway, I hope that's why there are British phone booths and post boxes scattered at Kentuck Knob...otherwise, it's just too sad.

Watched quite a few movies on this wee vacation: The Good Thief (love it), Spirited Away (love it), The Dancer Upstairs (woah, cool), and Max (check it out). I loved it. We also saw the lunar eclipse, and hiked thru the woods around Cheat Lake. When it was time to return to DC, however, a horrible event occured: I had a fever. And not just a 99' fever, but a 103' fever. For 5 hours in a car. I was in hell...my eyeballs were trying to burn out of their sockets, and I could feel my cells collapsing from dehydration. Got to Broadlawn, crawled into the house and died on the sofa. My poor Tia...she wanted to care for me, but I wanted to die right there. (I also wanted my momma, who was in Illinois and not readily available) I 'watched' The King And I with cold washclothes on my head, slowly eating apple slices and hoping for death.

Finally, I was off to meet up with Georgette. Lucky for me, she herself was under the weather with a cold from either India or France (we're travellers, baby) so we were miserable together. Tia made me promise to call for any need either of us had, being transplanted Midwesterners without a mom nearby. (Thanks, Tia. Seriously. You're a great surrogate momma.) That evening's adventures included taking my temperature with a French thermometer (C, not F) and attempting to convert it using guesswork and laughter while I shivered and huddled under a down comforter. We came up with 103.9', which is rather high. Lots of IB, lots of water, lots of sleep. Doctor? ER? Please. I can kick this fever's ass...but I'll do it tomorrow.

The next afternoon, we headed over to the National Cathedral for their Tour And Tea program. Unbeknownst to us (because their phone people *suck*), this program is booked thru January. Luckily, we were allowed to join because a group had two members not show. The tour was fascinating, but the tea--it was heavenly. Very scrumptious, very British, very good. Head out to the car as the twilight deepens, and there's that cute Miata of Georgette's. We start the car.

Nothing happens.

Lights on? check. 'Stupid' sticker on our foreheads? check. Problems? Check.
Nothing like a National Holiday in our Nation's Capital to make sure there's nobody able to bail us out. (AAA? What's that?) After asking everybody we could find for a jump (out of the gutter, people) the nice security guards came and saved us. Of course, we had to save ourselves a bit first: namely, we had to find the battery.

Raise your hand if you know where the battery is on a wee car like the 1992 Mazda Miata. If you're like us, you don't know it's in the trunk over the passenger-side wheel. You also don't know which contacts are which. It leads to some funny moments that mean little unless you're there, so I won't bore you.

We started the car, headed home, and heeded the admonition to keep the car running for 20 minutes. We toured the capital (accidentally) and then wandered the sketchy parts looking for the cheap gas. (Don't ask.) Home to nap under the comforter and push more IB, since the fever's returning and we're due at S's house for dinner at 8. Indian dinner, mind you, so I'm not staying at home and missing out!

Good food, home to pack and call for a cab to arrive at 4a, and find out no cab company will come pick me up. Not because I'm in a sketchy neighborhood (I'm not! But yes, that *is* a crack house 3 doors down. It's just the way it is) but because my cell phone isn't local and they won't come to non-local numbers. The snag? My roomie's still got her Chicago number. We can't get a cab for love or money. Finally, one says they'll come but there'll be no waiting around for me; either I'm out waiting for him (next to the crackhouse, of course) or he leaves me. This means I don't sleep all night, and when I do--I have a nightmare about my parent's house being broken into where they have their own Great Break-in of 2003 and trust me when I tell you *that* woke me up for good. I'm off to the airport in a cab piloted by a Detroit native who has contempt for those in DC who shudder at the thought of snow, and shared a 'great home remedy' for my fever/cough: "Take a cold Miller High Life, and pour a spoon or two of liver oil in there, and drink it down right away. It gots to be High Life. It'll kill the flavor, and you'll be all warm." Well, if I'm shooting a High Life, I think I'll be inebriated. Arrived at Reagan National, speed-checked in, and found out that the entire airport doesn't really open until 5:30. I stood in line for the still-closed coffee place with the flight crews to 8 planes, and wait...and wait...still waiting. Finally got a bagel and some juice, boarded my plane, and headed west with the sunrise, fever still firmly in hand.

I arrived late, call in to the office, and learn that my boss needed me right now and hurry up! so now I really don't want to go to work... but there I go, and find out that he needed a lot of help. I stayed late and worked thru a fever attack, then headed home in 40 mph gusts.

Story 2: Self-inflicted black eyes really do happen. No, really. No. Really.

In my defense, I'm tired and not really quick at this point. My day's been long, and I have a ways to go before I'm done. I push thru my back gate, turn a bit to haul my bags thru with me, and turn back to find the door has accelerated via the wind and is now smacking the hell out of my face. It's the kind of thing that happens so quickly that it's over before you've even registered it happening. It's the kind of pain that makes your breath catch and your throat begin to thicken with tears and yet the sheer insanity of the situation makes you want to laugh because after all this? What *else* can go wrong? So I'm doing that giggle/sob thing where bystanders wouldn't know if I was laughing or crying, and fumble thru the back door. Up the stairs, thru the kitchen and down the hall to my room, where I look at myself in the mirror and find that the body is an amazing thing. At the instant of trauma, the body springs into action. This time, it sprung itself into a lump the size of a grape on my left cheekbone. People, not quite 2 minutes has passed. I'm deformed, I'm fevered, my bronchials are in revolt, and I have book group in 2 hours. This is ending up to be one of the longest, worst days of my life.

I get some ice, put it in a baggie, and proceed to crush the hell out of it with a pan on the floor. *pop* There goes the corner of the bag! Oh well...drop it all in another bag, wrap it in a towel, and head to the couch while speed dialing the only person I'm capable of talking to at this point.

"Mooooooooooooooommmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmaaaaaaa"

I lay on the couch with an icepack for an hour, then head to bookgroup. I'm sure you're asking 'why the hell did you go to that when you're sick and just had this new injury?!!' Well, the short answer is that I need this group to give me balance, and you can be sure that I needed balance at this point! Unfortunately, by the time I got there I had developed the kind of headache I've only dreamed about, the kind of thing where I could feel the blood pulsing thru my brain every time it moved more than .005 degrees. I'm in hell. I'm in the hell that doesn't let me sleep. I'm in the hell that, with the amount of IB I'm taking, doesn't allow me to take MORE and possibly kill myself via OD, so now I'm awake and miserable all night. I'm concocting scenarios. I'm debating who might be able to bring me a popsicle from the fridge, who might bring me Gatorade from Jewel, who might give me a morphine drip and let me die right now. You're lucky I didn't have internet access that night. Any update I'd have made would have sounded like a desperate plea from a strung-out junkie.

(Hey, don't be saying that's normal for this journal That's not nice.)

I called in to work at 5a, and told the boss that I'd be in late, probably around 9. I fell asleep for 3 hours. They were the best 3 hours of sleep I'd had in 2 days.

~~~~~

Continue to the next entry to find out what happens when 40 guys decide that the brotherly thing to do is to hunt down and kill whoever did this to me.