I Think I Might Be Dying

An update on the sickness:
I have sweat-soaked 3 "outfits" (read: T-shirt, hoodie, PJ pants & undies) since I fell sick Monday evening. I can't break my fever. I am sooooo cold & sweaty at the same time. I can't stop my hands from shaking. My right lymph nodes are golf-ball sized; the ones on the left are only gumball-sized. Perhaps things will improve by tomorrow?

To further infuriate me, this is how today has proceeded: I woke up at 8am & showered to remove the layers of sweat that have accumulated since my last bath Tuesday eve. I quickly realized that there was no reason to try to go to Copyright Law in such a miserable state. So, I laid down on the couch & waited for the pre-scheduled electricians to come over & install/fix my smoke detectors.

(Backstory: The house I live in was sold in September to some richie-rich who is from P-Burgh, but lives in Manhattan. He has implemented some decent changes, such as paving our gravel parking lot & the smoke detector thing, but now is embarking on some additional changes which I find greedy & retarded.)

So, first I had to lock D-Dogg in the small bathroom b/c there are only three rooms in my loft-style apartment & they needed to get into the main area & the bedroom. And as previosuly noted on this blog, she would eat their pants off. Next, I fell into a kinda dozing state whilst I listened to the workers installing the detectors downstairs. Around noon, they were ready for me. It actually wasn't so bad; it took them about an hour & 1/2 to complete the job. Plus, I'm a bit safer now. And, since the lady that lives below me lights over 20 candles a day, I guess we're all really much safer.

OK, here's where I start to cry. The masons (not The Masons) who paved the lot stopped by last night to measure the super-freaking-scary-I won't go down there alone-basement so that they could pour concrete. I have some things stored down there on the dirt floors in the moldly atmosphere & wondered why they were going to give it a real floor. They told me that they planned to renovate it into a 4th apartment! Jesus, it has no windows! And I call it "The Silence of the Lambs Basement." This is truly ridiculous. But it gets worse.

OK, so another apartment; I'll have to finally move my stuff, which ought to be awesome. The mason (who is really, really cute & has the same face as my first serious high school boyfriend) told me that he would be ripping out the old, f-ed up brick sidewalk in front of the house today. That sounds good to me b/c I'm the one who shovels & salts & the uneven nature of the bricks makes it quite a tough job. So, as the electricians are finishing up, I begin to hear bricks hit the inside of a dump truck. The mason had arrived. So, I quickly ran downstairs to try to save my last bit of country in this city: my brick flowerbed.

I pleaded with him. I live for gardening (well, & boating) in the summer! But, he told me that since it was ajacent to the house, it would bring moisture to the basement. Ha! Another reason why no one should live in that rat-infested shithole basement.

So, I lost. No more flowers. All I have left is my three little planters for herbs on the side of the house. God-damn. Just then, T called & I started tearing up on the phone. I really don't know what to do. Gardening in all of its glory made me feel great. Now, fifteen minutes of planting will be all that I am left with. I really have to get outta here.

In response to Andrew's tagging, here goes:

3 Things That Very Few People Know About Me:
1. (Sorry to steal the topic): My first CD was Janet Jackson, Rhythm Nation 1814. Um, it's in my iPod to this day.

2. I must have ice in my red wine. This is completely gouche, but so am I.

3. I love the smell of BO. There, I said it.

I can still hear the bricks being ripped from their homes in the ground. This house is over 100 years old. I wonder if the bricking is too?

RIP flowerbed of mine. Thanks for 3 solid years of beauty.