okay, this is going to be very short and i will update it later because my immune disorders are kicking my ass today and i feel like crap on a cracker. i keep writing carp so maybe i feel like carp on a cracker. i'm not sure. so george is gone from my brain. it's a freaking miracle. i don't understand any of it, of course. but i am thrilled to have george out of my sinuses and away from my fucking pituitary gland and other glands near there that regulate my hormones.

unfortunately, my various immune problems (small break, sorry, paul rudd is on the daily show, and he and stewart are a riot together. now he's dancing like an old prospector, kicking his legs out to the side. this is fabulous stuff. ) have descended, so i'm running a fever and have swollen glands and that logy flu-ish feeling, not to mention the body aches and pains and the i'm-never-getting-off-the-couch-again exhaustion. i'm clearly a freaking wuss because i can't stand the fevers. when i'm feverish -- and nothing touches this shit. acetaminophen works for a short while but that's it -- i get extremely depressed.

my good news day is gone, done, history. so i know objectively that george's demise is wonderful news. i know. i just feel like shit and like killing the fucking banging thumping ocd painbody upstairs from me. she is supposed to fucking call the mediation people like i did and we're supposed to go to fucking mediation and find some way to meet in the middle about this fucked up situation of me and my ptsd and her need to bang around for hours in pursuit of absolute cleanliness in her apartment. or as a brain-damaged character on Grey's Anatomy kept repeating, is it clean clean clean? yes, until her apartment is clean clean clean. 

okay, just wanted to share my fabulous news. i wish i had in-person friends with whom to share this but that's a complaint for later on. which reminds me, who the freak decided that people who don't complain, people who are absolutely stoic about the horrible things that happen to them, are better than people who whine a bit about these same tragedies. this really pisses me off. it's like the asshole benjamin franklin with his early to bed, early to rise bullshit, when he was just rolling in after his nights of drinking and carousing. i know. i'm somewhat obsessed with old ben franklin and how much of a dickhead he was, well, except for the light bulb and all.

so if someone doesn't cry or grieve a bit when all their limbs are taken off because of flesh-eating bacteria -- an oprah guest who only focused on getting back to caring for her baby -- then that is a superior person, because oprah goes on and on and on about how outstanding this woman is for not wallowing about it all. it's not just oprah who says/believe this, of course. she just comes to mind because i am also a teeny bit obsessed with all things O. now, i have done more than my share of bitching and whining and complaining about this benign mass in my head, so, believe me, if that fucking flesh-eating thing came anywhere near me and caused me to lose a couple of limbs, you can bet i'd be more than a little upset about the whole thing. i would not only complain, i would also cry, scream, pound on things with my remaining limbs, cry and scream some more and whine a whoooooole lot, for a long long long time.

okay, i'm done. i really feel like carp on a cracker and need to give my girls some baby carrots and have some english breakfast tea with milk and splenda and maybe half a strawberry-rhubarb pie with generic cool whip, celebrate. george, at the very least, deserves a farewell, party of sorts.