April 26, 2004 - Roller Coaster Day

Up, up, up

3 a.m. I stay up late with The Gryphon, drinking "7 and 7's" and watching the Jack Black/Richard Linklater commentary track on his School of Rock DVD. Even after he falls asleep, I keep waking up The Gryphon by kissing him and telling him how much I love him. He doesn't seem to mind.

Down

7:35 a.m. After hitting the snooze alarm twice, The Gryphon gives in, takes his shower and heads off to work. I hate Monday mornings.

Up

8-10:40 a.m. I go back to sleep, dreaming random dreams, sleeping for 20 minutes at a time and then waking up again, only to decide I can afford to sleep longer.

Down

10:40 a.m. Reluctantly, I decide to get out of bed. It's a gray, rainy Monday. I'm feeling blah. Maybe an Advil (or two, or three) will help. And water, lots of water.

11:30 a.m. The Seventh Day Adventists come to the door again, trying to convert me. This time I hide in the bedroom until they go. I soooo don't have time for this.

Up, up

1:20 p.m. After fighting MSWord for several hours, I finally put to bed an editing project I've been working on for a friend for several months now. Triumphantly, I go out in the rain and mail it. It felt so good, if it were possible, I'd mail it twice. See you, sucka!

3:15 p.m. As I'm heading out to my car to take my dog for her annual checkup and shots, one of my neighbors spots me and asks if I've lost weight. I tell her, "Yes, I have." Forty-five pounds and counting.

Down, down

3:40 p.m. My dog, Una, barks incessantly in the vet's office, because she is scared. Not so much of the tiny fluffball dogs who are also in the waiting room, but more at the overall situation. The headache, which had since disappeared, returns.

3:55 p.m. The veterinarian, holding a stethoscope to Una's chest says, "Did I mention a murmur last time?" Concerned, I say no, I definitely would have remembered that. He checks again. "Yes," he says, "she has a slight heart murmur." He draws me a diagram with a felt tip pen on a paper towel, explaining the way blood is supposed to flow through the heart. On her left side, she has a slight heart murmur which indicates a small amount of blood occasionally goes backwards when it should be going forward. He tells me that at this point, it's nothing to get terribly concerned about. "Out of a scale of one to six, I'd give it a two," he says. He tells me to come back in six months and get her checked again.

Up

4:49 p.m. Back at home, I instant message The Gryphon with my bad news. He reassures me. It turns out he's having a terrible day, too. His office is having long distance and T1 outages, and since he's the IT guy, this translates into general badness. We console each other and think forward to tonight, when he promises to stop by after work. The thought of hugging him in person makes me smile. Maybe things aren't so bad, rainy, gray, up-and-down day and all.

Moral:
Next time, I'll ride the Tilt-a-Whirl.