Ugh. Sick. Blah.

*hack* *wheeze* *snarf* *hork*

As “luck” should have it, I need to go see one of my doctors before I leave town. And I was told that thanks to the new HMO, I have to get a referral from the doctor who referred me there in the first place. So I have an appointment with said PCP first thing tomorrow, which I made when I was perfectly healthy. Irony. And joy.

Another weekend wasted. Sigh. I’ve packed a whopping four and a half boxes. I bought some boxes this week — woo. Need to buy a ton more. Also need to call the realtor lady — the third I’ve talked to — about, oh, finding somewhere to live when the moving van shows up later this month.

This month. Eeek. *hyperventilating*

Anyway, can’t call said realtor right now because, oh yeah, I have laryngitis. Whee! Why can’t these people just e-mail? And what am I going to tell her that I didn’t tell the first two who referred me to her?

I think the sickness is just stress setting in. I need to make a visit to my new homeland to look at condos (just to rent — my credit score and IQ are roughly equal) and, oh yeah, I need to move. And even though the roomie swears up and down that she’s not going with, I’ve sort of been panicking about that, too. I mean, I’ll get a place big enough for two. But I am hoping that I’ll be able to have guests from out-of-town (or overnight guests that are local!) instead of a full-time roomie.

And isn’t it sad that the only time I can get laid is when I’m out of town? Kee-rist. I know Virginia Woolf said a girl needs a room of one’s own. Fuck that noise — she needs a house of her own, plus a pool boy. And a good maid! Plus, someone to fetch her medicine when she’s too weak to get out of bed till 7 p.m.

I had my “last supper” in Alexandria yesterday, probably when I should have been resting. But alas, I was hellbent on getting to the Overwood one last time, and again as luck should have it, they had extended their restaurant-week specials through last night.

Mmm. O HAI steamed mussels, sweet-potato ravioli and Godiva chocolate bread pudding. Particularly with the dessert, served hot with ice cream and caramel (slurp), its restorative properties were a wonderful distraction from the munge.

Hell, since I have a doctor’s appointment in the morning, I can probably count on the fact that I shall awaken perfectly healthy. Which, isn’t a bad thing. Just gimme my damn referral and I’ll be on my merry little way. …

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