Being sick sucks. I have been stuck in the house for two days with intermittent nausea, chills, headaches, back pain, and skin that feels achey as though it's sunburned. Even though the vet told me that my cat's upper respiratory virus was not transmissable to humans, I am dubious. The cat is obviously at fault. How could the copious amounts of snot he snorted into my face not affect me? Of course, now that I feel like an aching lump of old oatmeal, Oskar's fever has finally broken. Jerk.

When my sinuses are swollen, my brain is no good, so today I'm sending you off into the blogosphere with the following list of decent reading to carry you through your Tuesday afternoon. (The slightly lighter quoted bits of text in the sans-serif font are links to the actual entries).

  • The following quote from Little Red Boat sums up some of my memories of going to certain parties in the early and mid 1990s if you lump in the drunks and those on drugs in her narrative together and replace the drama students with goths.
    "I sit down on the stairs and gaze forlornly at my unopened wine bottle. And then someone behind me starts giving me a crap neck massage and telling me how good it feels. And it doesn't. And then two car crashes of personalities collapse half dressed on my knees, and I shift slightly, in an attempt to avoid the majority of bodily fluids if, or when, they come."

  • This isn't a sunny piece by Open Brackets, but it is not black, either. I like it because of its patchwork nature: it takes pieces of detail from here and there, seemingly unrelated on the surface, and knits them together with such clarity.
    "So I've been lucky so far. My ideas about death have been allowed to remain largely in the realm of philosophy. I have no great scars of mourning, my attitude is stoic and, on certain days of blind fatigue and frustration, the prospect of my ultimate demise seems near inviting."

  • This, from 72hrchikdom, is aces for silliness (and yes, I said aces):
    "We ended up in a position where our feet were suspended in the air over our heads, all the while focusing on r e l a x i n g. The room is perfectly quiet. I can feel the positive energy flowing and I'm becoming one with something and such.

    Out of the silence, suddenly, with no warning, comes the most offensive sound from Robyn's posterior. FFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT. Oh. Dear. God."

  • Basically, I love anything from the very small list that is the biggerhand archives:
    "The last person here
    left a butt in the ashtray
    and stunk up the car"

  • Perhaps it's a little obsessive of me, but I occasionally revisit this old entry from Eeksy-Peeksy. The rhythm and the activity is delicious in my mouth.
    "Cats on the kitchen table.... Outrun the rats."

  • Check out Fussy's entry from August 6th (it is far less gross than it sounds):
    "... about halfway through the afternoon I realized the blood was coming out of her ass."

  • And yes, I had to include a snippet from the Fiery One, because yes, I do think he is that funny:
    "I was wrong. Our pet has turned out to be a yowling spoiled demon, a petulant two year old stuffed into a cat suit."

    One little thing about the new kitten, Oskar... The other night, he sat in front of the computer monitor making scooping motions from the screen to his mouth. I wasn't moving the mouse arrow and the images on this site are static, so it took me a while to figure out what he was trying to do. Oskar thought that the fly image at the upper right was a real fly.

    "Ode to Cancer" by Chris Tusa