Hello, anniversary of my birth.
Hm. I guess where I am it's been my birthday for around 25 minutes. 2^5 years old (I'm 25! Really! Sorta.) and deeper in debt. I can't handle the notion that my friends may wish to perform some ceremonial outing. I'm really unfortunately not in the mood.
I don't know why. Maybe it's because they keep tweaking my meds.
Obligatory Pet Mention: There's a ferret curled around my foot. She is industriously testing whether or not humans can be stirred to action involving kibbles by continuously licking my toes. She, clever minx, knows I'm ticklish. I will prevail, however. I have opposable thumbs and a higher IQ. I think.
She's still licking. I think she's gonna move to nibbling in a minute. This ferret has a tendency to do stuff like order books from Amazon.com when I'm not home, so I'm not sure what she'll do if her will to nosh is thwarted much longer.
Obligatory work mention: I am presently (for the next week) entirely wrapped up in planning (oh, now she's on the ke00000000000000
In any case, I'm entirely occupied with moving my company's multiple production web systems from one colocation facility to another. This naturally means exquisite timing of InterNIC and DNS changes, lots of sweat, worry, prayers I don't drop the irreplaceable Sun E220, and no sleep before it goes wrong anyway. This is what they pay me the small bucks for. Well, not that small, but still. Small enough that my impending mortgage brings a cold sweat to my once free-to-quit-my-job brow.
I think the meds are losing effectiveness because I'm gaining weight. Every time I go see my physician, I get another highly entertaining lecture on weight management from a thin person. He means well. Very well; he introduced my parents. I once caught pneumonia during a New Year's while snowed into my house alone; after the second day of listening to my tortured wracking on the phone, my mother had him come over. He determined that I had mycoplasma pneumonia and gave me horsechoker pills, saying that normally he'd have hospitalized me, but I appeared to be past the worst of it.
Now I can tell everyone that I had the head of Infectious Diseases from Tufts Medical School make a house call when I want to feel important. Heh.
There's really not much else to tell. I could write of my new-found unclehood and my 11-week-old nephew who's already trying to stand up when you hold him (waving his arms for balance and everything, until his still-weak knees give in). That probably deserves a non-daylog writeup, though. I think I'm depressed still, despite the various medications. Good thing I'm in therapy. Ferrets are excellent for depression. They continuously emit fields of cuteness and hilarity, and evoke laughter, exasperation, glee and snuggles in succession - all of which make it difficult to remain blue. Try feeling that nobody loves you when you have two warm furballs curled up around your hand and in the hollow of your neck and shoulder as you lie in bed, softly breathing (so fast!) and warm, every once in a while stretching to yawn and lick your ear before returning to slumber. It's really, really hard.
I think I'll kip out for a quick nap. There's a ferret, looking comfortable on my couch...
Happy Birthday, self.
Happy birthday Girlface! (grin)
Bean, get well and happy. Don't head for the Rainbow Bridge just yet; there's frolicking to be done here. Really.