get there!

Not much to say; nothing profound to say.

I grounded myself because I've been so pathetically qausi-feeble and sick... it's not "pow! you're out for 5 solid days!" sick, but the sneaky-type sick... I'll feel totally normal, and then I do any physical exertion, and POW! Sinus infection takes over my brain and I'm suddenly 98 years old and my heart pounds just from walking up the stairs. What's with the ebbs and flows of sick days?
Morning-- feel horrible. Afternoon- feel ok. Evening- feel great. Do stupid, marvelously irresponsible things, like playing badminton* in the dark. Nighttime- want to die immediately after doing fun irresponsible things

*Went to Thad's for dinner... we played badminton as it was getting dark and didn't stop until it was so dark that the shuttlecock literally hit me in the face (and I had no idea it was headed toward my face). Sam and Tom were kicking our ass, especially because Sam quickly learned that his intimidating deep voice will make me miss any shot if he just yells "JANE! IT'S YOURS, JANE!" or, the best sports command ever, "GET THERE!" Hours later, I'm putting away clothes at home and I hear the boys yelling "GET THERE" again in my head and I start cracking up-- grateful that my slippers are the only things in my apartment that can hear how weird I am on a daily basis.

If I can stop being sick, I can survive the next crazy work weeks until the 17th when-- so help me, god-- my video shoots will be "done". Except for "a few more". I've never worked so much ever, even that one time. My brain hurts. My desk is groaning from all the paperwork at the office. I'm eager to see this project really start to get some meat on its bones when we venture deeper into postproduction.

Topic for next very sleepy and sickly babbling spree: why I want to kick every single poster for the Sex and the City movie. And why I'll probably go see it. Blechhhh. Stupid Sex & the City.

Also: Hemingway's short stories are so good that I want to quit my job and just read them over and over.

Also: As an avid horse lover and someone who's watched the Kentucky Derby almost every year since I was 10, I think I'm swearing it off forever. I watched Saturday's race alone in my apartment with a bowl of soup and a big glass of ginger ale... excited to cheer on 8 Belles, the first filly contender for the cup over 20 years. I didn't have much of a voice, but I shouted to the best of my ability through the last 3/4ths of the race-- trying to figure out which jockey's silks belonged to 8 Belles in the crazy cluster. She crossed the finish line 2nd, and almost immediately crumpled to the ground. It wasn't on camera, but I *knew* something was wrong when Big Brown (the winning horse) flinched and threw his rider as they were cooling off and greeting the cheering crowd. He saw her go down, and it showed in his body-- the horses on the track knew she was hurt. She'd shattered both front ankles... they euthanized her immediately, even before the trainer could get down on the field.
It was awful. Truly tragic. Such a spirited, fast filly-- and then she's just gone.
I looked pretty pathetic wrapped up in my quilt on the couch, eating soup and ginger ale, crying over a race horse, but it was so sad.

I'm swearing off the Derby. Thoroughbreds are like the royal family-- bred for bloodlines more than anything, and it's ridiculous. They keep breeding the horses that are fast, but don't check as carefully as they should to make sure that the horses are healthy, sound, and physically capable of racing without genetic vulnerability to injuries. I just can't keep watching a sport that claims the life of these beautiful animals, that only had 3 years to live before meeting their death after a 1.25 mile race.

Also: I'm stalling. I'm dreading Monday, so I'm putting off bedtime, even though I feel exhausted and I have to be up early.

Only two more sessions of Monday night volunteering before the parents "graduate" next week at a bbq in Thompson Park (they wrote thank you notes for the social workers and me... I'm so excited to read what they wrote). I'm really sad that the semester's ending-- the program doesn't run over the summer, so I'll have to wait until August or September to see how many foster kids will be signed up next time. I'll really miss working with my kiddo. If I could figure out this freaking job situation, I could decide whether or not to re-up my lease (and maybe get wood floors in my apartment... and new paint... and new blinds)... or whether or not it's the right time to become a Big Sister. I really, really want to join a mentorship program soon, and it's driving me crazy how hard it is to commit to at least a year when my life's all crazy and in limbo.
New job, stable apartment, mentorship program, path to all that's happy and productive... I just want to GET THERE!! Seriously! Maybe the shuttlecock of life will smack me in the face without warning again soon.

Anyway.
Nothing else new to vent about before bedtime.
Too much to do, not enough time to have thoughtful thoughts, not enough will power to say no to a night of pitch dark badminton when it means I'll be hacking up a lung later.

Happy Mondays, all around...