Sabotage. Pure Sabotage.

My roommates have spices growing in clay pots by the living room window. They're labeled: Thyme, Rosemary, Sage, Parsley. Needless to say, they're a gardening project that went awry somewhere in the growing process. Maybe they didn't receive enough sunlight, water, or nutrients, but they never quite made it past infancy. They look like alfalfa sprouts. All of them. Resilient though. Wispy, tiny little things - leaning toward the window - but very much alive. And super potent. I just swept my fingers through the Rosemary pot and now all I can smell is a spice cabinet. Funny how something so small and weak can have so much kick.

If I may go so far out of my way as to make a lame metaphor, I kind of feel like those spices. Like my body is slowly withering toward death, but my brain is very feisty [laughs]. I've managed to shake off the majority of the symptoms that were rendering me immobile for two weeks, but now I have a phlegmy cough that makes me feel like I'm drowning. It tapers off to a seal bark and gets way worse at the end of the day or, hell, when I'm talking on the phone. If I cough too much, a migraine sets on that makes every cough feel like a railroad spike to the back of my head. Amelia suggested to me tonight that maybe I should get checked out. Finally, and reluctantly, I'm inclined to agree. Not because I think I might have some life-threatening illness, but because I've been eating so much acetaminophen that it makes my liver sad and these headaches are really starting to incapacitate me. I'm going to be making some phone calls tomorrow morning - early - to try to get squeezed in somewhere on a last-second appointment. If I'm lucky, I'll succeed.

I ventured out into the world today. Ever since I watched Kevin make himself a cheeseburger two nights ago, I've been hankering for one. And so I decided to go to the Court Square Diner, which is around the corner from Jen's apartment. I'd have considered inviting Jen, but diner food isn't really her fare of choice. And so I went with a book - "Running with Scissors" is what I'm working on right now - and had myself some... linner? It was around 4:30. Almost old-people dinner time. Maybe I can scrape by on calling it that. They hired a couple of new waiters there, which, oddly, ruffled my feathers. It's strange how you can get so used to a place that you don't want anything about it to change. Other than that, everything was pretty much the same. I got an 8 oz. cheeseburger with lettuce & tomato, fries, onion rings, coleslaw, a pickle, and a root beer for under ten bucks. I couldn't really complain about that.

After, I decided to go see the huge mall that Amelia has been telling me about, way out in Queens. It turns out she wasn't lying. This thing was a consumer monster. It was Four. Stories. Tall. And all I wanted were some shoes for my internship. But from what I heard, this thing had more shoes in it than I'd know what to do with.

So I'm not going to regale you with six paragraphs about my shoe-hunting trip at the mall. Not to mention, I've been coughing a lot for the past half hour and I feel a mean headache coming on. Great. But there were some highlights. So here's the abridged version:

The Macy's footwear section was a nightmare. Counter displays were ravaged and random high heels were scattered all over the floor, bottoms up. [SIDE NOTE: I swear to god: Spike heels would have been a very effective way to fill medieval moats. They'd also be a very effective way to kill large jungle animals in pits (I don't know, you always see that sort of thing in movies... just not with stilettos).] And as I stood in Macy's today, waiting at the counter (which was also scattered with random women's shoes) for the poor, sweet, way-overwhelmed customer service lady to bring me a pair in a size 10, surrounded by clearance racks packed senselessly with a disorganized array of crappy footwear, not to mention the barrage that covered the floor like a spiky game of Mine Sweep, my anal and organized brain was in its own personal hell.

I didn't buy anything there. I just wanted to get the hell out.
I also didn't buy anything at one of the brand-name shoe stores (I can't even remember which one) where  some guy with a lisp and braces accused me of being rich when I couldn't find a pair of shoes I wanted to buy, told me my beautiful eyes were begging for a purchase, asked me my name, shook my hand, winked at me, and told me he hoped to see me in there again sometime real soon. Do you think that was in the training video?

In the end, I got a pair of impossibly comfortable - and super-cute! - open-toed (yes, it's okay) shoes from Aerosoles. And they only rang me up $31, which isn't so bad for good shoes. I also got a cute dress from Charlotte Russe. I'm bad with dresses... sometimes I really can't resist.

By the time I left, I was thankful. My cough was worsening and my head was working up a racket. By the time I stepped in the door at 8:30, it hurt so bad I could barely walk. That's when I showered and decided that it's time to find out what's wrong with my body so I can knock it back into line. WebMD says my symptoms line up perfectly with Bronchitis, but even more perfectly with walking pneumonia. But then again, I'm pretty sure WebMD only exists to terrify people who are hooked on self-diagnosis. So hopefully I'll manage to get an appointment tomorrow and find out what the professionals have to say.

Because I have to sell ice pops all day on Saturday and I don't want to be spewing mucus all over them.