We've been making small changes to the apartment (small compared to the painting ordeal), one of which is the addition of shamrocks. Charrow bought 2 shamrock plants, one very hearty looking specimen and one very spastic, but cheerful little guy.
That is, it was cheerful. Direct quote as she lamented the loss of flowers: "I was so busy worrying about it that I forgot to water it!" Oops.
The cherry tomato plant that we bought at the co-op is faring much better. It's burst out of the mesh cat-proofing device and is growing at a rate of 1-2 inches a day. Who knows if it will produce any tomatoes, but it smells good and it makes our window look like a miniature veggie patch.
In other news, it seems that my swine flu mockery has finally come back to haunt me. I've been feeling like someone shoved my head under a garbage truck for the past couple of days. Hopefully the sickness reached its pinnacle with my yak attack this morning. I was so worried (as I am wont to do when it comes to disease) that I went to the ER.
Boy was that a mistake. I could have spent the day resting and couch surfing with the animals. Instead, I shifted around in an uncomfortable waiting room chair listening to women shout out answers to "Who Wants to be a Millionaire" and give their two cents about the soap opera actors. When I finally made it back to the treatment area, it was only to be shunted from one area to the next. I started out in the Fast Track area, which let me tell you was anything but fast, and then some nurse decided that I should be moved to the Urgent Care area, which again, did not live up to its name. 4 hours later, I walked back to the train with a ditto of how to treat a Viral Syndrome (if you experience convulsions, come back to the emergency room!) and a co-pay that was way more than the $5.29 bottle of Ibuprofen that I should have bought in the first place.
It does not pay to be a hypochondriac.
