lofty aspirations

there goes all my money

noreply@blogger.com (Tierrie) — Wed, 26 Sep 2007 04:05:00 +0000

Well fuck, there goes all my money.

I have been waiting for DRM free music forever, Apple be damned for their proprietary shit. Wrap it up, put a bow tie on it, but I am not paying for stuff that only works on your players.

We are freeeeeeeeeee! Freeeeeeeeee! Actually we are paying 89 cents a song. But its almost free. For very large values of freeness.

In the time it took for me to write this, I have spent 3 dollars. Which puts my expenditure at 3 bucks an hour. Fuck.

withdrawals

noreply@blogger.com (Tierrie) — Thu, 16 Nov 2006 23:37:00 +0000

I forgot to get my coffee this morning. I feel like a tiny imp is pounding a jackhammer into the back of my skull while my eyes droop and my face looms over this table menancingly.

karmic reading

noreply@blogger.com (Tierrie) — Wed, 15 Nov 2006 03:10:00 +0000

Occasionally, as I zoom through the great Internet I come across a few tidbits that I stop for. This is one of them

Waiter Rant

its a disease

noreply@blogger.com (Tierrie) — Fri, 03 Nov 2006 22:53:00 +0000

I'm seeing a greater number of these incidents pop up over YouTube. When I saw the first one I thought it was funny and cute. But now, babies everywhere are falling into this mindless giggling! We must save them from chronic giggling! My friend Lily has a clip of her own niece giggling senselessly. Its a disease and its not stopping! They strike our weakest, our babies. Next we'll see 5 year olds giggling senselessly and before we know it, adults will too fall to this senseless giggling.

Tee hee hee.

a sight for sore eyes

noreply@blogger.com (Tierrie) — Fri, 03 Nov 2006 02:40:00 +0000

This is going to be what my friend Jessica calls a piggy post. Actually she calls my behavior "oink oink squeal" when I talk to her about girls. I don't think she's being complimentary but its ok, because Jessica is a retard anyway and never reads my blog so she need not know. I declare myself winner of this argument with Jessica by default!

Good times.

Today I visited an optometrist. Or an optician. Or an optodoctor. The last time I visited someone who took a close look at my eyes was 5 years ago, where I did not actually meet the optoquack.

Today, I went to this ethic chinese village place thingy in Cupertino where everyone in the stores speaks Chinese whether you are Chinese, white, black or latino. It is the first time I've ever been in a store where I spoke English while she communicated exclusively in Chinese. Strange.

I began by while filling out a boring form about myself, what's my name, where I live, what's my social security number, blah blah blah. Then an assistant too me to the game room. I call it the game room because I got to sit down, stare into a void while the assistant shoots beams of light into my eyes to try to determine the degree of vision impairment or permanently damage my vision. I suspect the latter. Since I could not stare without blinking, it turned into a game where she sees if she can blind me before I blink.

Once we're done with the light-shooty-in-my-eyes game, she puts my face on the wind-blowy-in-my-eyes game. This is where she shoots air into my eyes. I don't know what this proves but I found this game especially hard. When someone blows into your eyes, YOU WILL BLINK. And the longer she paused in between shots of air, the twitchier my eyes became. And it became a competition, could she shoot air into my eyes before I blinked. I think she lost this game.

The final game involved me looking dead center at a yellow light, while in my peripheral vision a light would blink. I was given a little clicker which I must click whenever I see a light blink. This one was rather fun but I started getting nervous. What if I missed a light? What if a light blinked far away from the center and my peripheral vision didn't catch it? What if I failed this test and had like glaucoma and had to wear super thick nerdy glasses?

The stupid game didn't help either, instead of repetitive *click* *click* *click* it would go *click* *click*click* *click*click* *click* and you never knew when it would happen. Fortunately, my days playing twitch games like Bejeweled helped. Thanks Bejeweled! Because of you, I do not have to wear nerdy glasses!

I know I passed this test because when I was finished I sneaked a peak at the screen and I got 40 our of 40 for both my eyes. Damn, I am good at games.

Once this was done, the assistant came to get me and handed me off to the doctor.

At this point I must digress and say that most optowitches I've met are old men or ugly ass women who rely on the poor vision of their clients to keep their business going. But when a petite girl no more than 23 walked out and took the clipboard, I could not help but do a double take. She was cute. And much more so when I finally put my glasses back on.

Suffice to say, under her tender care, I was exceptionally witty during my eye exam going so far as to declare "I think that's a U, or a C, or an O, they look all alike. Don't you think?" and "That looks like an F, or a P. Goddamn this shit is hard".

So I don't do so well in exams.

But she was exceptionally patient, flipping all sorts of contraption that made my vision clearer, then blurrer then clearer again. But despite her best efforts I could never read the third line. Goddamn you third line. In retrospect I should have written it down or at least memorized it when I walked in the door. Perhaps scribbled it quickly on the back of my hands.

Once she was done, she said in her soft voice, "Well it looks like your vision hasn't changed" to which I stupidly replied "That's ok, I mostly came to get a new pair of glasses anyway, I can see fine with these prescriptions". What I should have said was, "Alas, before today I did not know what it was to see, for once I have beholden you, my eyes are open. Such beauty is not meant for mortal men. Let me put out my eyes so that the very last vision I might have is of your beautiful self".

But I did not. And suddenly, the exam was over and I was ushered out so that I might select my frame but, my heart was not in it.

turtlenecks

noreply@blogger.com (Tierrie) — Wed, 01 Nov 2006 23:44:00 +0000

“Wearing a turtleneck is like being strangled by a really weak guy, all day. Wearing a backpack and a turtleneck is like a weak midget trying to bring you down.”

-- Mitch Hedberg

wholly unremarkable day

noreply@blogger.com (Tierrie) — Mon, 30 Oct 2006 22:40:00 +0000

Today is shaping up to be an unremarkable day. Nothing out of the ordinary. Everything's in place. Quiet. Boring.

But secretly, deep inside, I am having a party. Because its my birthday.

I am convinced that this is how people slowly drift towards insanity.

señor pirate

noreply@blogger.com (Tierrie) — Wed, 25 Oct 2006 17:15:00 +0000

As I was driving to work today my mind wandered, as it is apt to do when bored. Usually my thoughts follow a loose thread of association as they jump from one mental image to another. Today it ended with me bursting out into laughter to my surprise. (Yes I was surprised because apparantly one part of my brain thought of the joke, and the rest of my brain just "got it").

I will recreate the train of thought here and it might seem a bit disjointed, but such is thinking (mine anyway)

It started with the Geoffrey Rush's memorable blurb, "I am disinclined to aquiest to your request".

What a sweet lass Kiera Knightley was. What was it she said? "Forthwith you shall cease hostilities against Port Royale"? Hmm maybe that was the gist of it but I am sure the words are not all correct.

Boy, Orlando Bloom was in this movie wasn't he? Man all the movies he's been in has been miserable, except the ones he co-starred in. It would suck to be known as the world's most bankable co-star -- never doing well in his own movies but the moment he is attached to someone else's, the ratings skyrocket.

Mmmmm Jack Sparrow. (Yes this thought was fairly brief)

Mmmmm Jack Sparrow's Undead Monkey. (Never said free associative thinking was smart)

Mmmmm Barbarosa..

Mmmmm Parrots.

Why do Pirates have Parrots anyway?

You know what's cool? Talk like a Pirate Day. I wonder why there isn't a Talk like a Parrot Day . (Yes my mind drew this association).

It would be funny to talk like a Parrot. Squawk!

If you had a Talk like Pirate Day and a Talk like a Parrot Day, they could be held back to back. One day you're a Pirate, the next you're a Parrot.

How do you introduce yourself to a Pirate with a Parrot in the Carribean?
"Please meet Señor Pirate and Señor Parrot" (spoken with a Spanish accent)

Yeap. I am a genius.

secret confessions of a strawberry killer

noreply@blogger.com (Tierrie) — Tue, 24 Oct 2006 18:15:00 +0000

Two weekends ago I gave up on coercing my friends to go to the Renn Faire and decided to go alone before they packed up.

A few days later I found myself talking to Lily about my experiences and what a great time I had at the Faire, hoping that she might feel guilty about not going and trying to convince her that there IS a great time to be had.

What I wanted her to think was something along the lines of, "Hey! It sounds like fun. He must be right. Gosh darn, why is he always right. I would have enjoyed myself. Perhaps I should go next year. Man, I regret not going this year. I am going to kick myself".

What I did not want her to do was ask, "So what did you do after the Faire?".

Because that would have led to a very tense moment.

Let me explain. The food at the Faire was poor and despite my attempts to eat the steak and mushroom pie, I was constantly reminded how much it smelt like dog food and had to throw it away. So, while I left the Faire happy, I left the Faire hungry.

Which leads me to the next point.

A place like Casa de Fruta is bound to have a great deal of fresh fruits, perhaps even out of season fruits, perhaps, Strawberries.

So I bought a teeny tiny basket of innocent sweet looking Strawberries. A tiny basket of temptation and sin for which I must now confess.

Dear Strawberry,

I am sorry Strawberry. I said I'd only eat you and spare your brothers and sisters, but I did not. After I ate you, I reneged on my promise. I am sure you know by now as you and your other lush brethens line up at Heaven's Gate -- for surely strawberries as luscious as you must go to heaven.

I must also confess, I did not take pride in what I did. I am ashamed, deeply ashamed. It was not an act of a sane person. I shed a tear with every bite. I swore each bite would be my last but alas, I broke my word with each juicy bite.

I don't know what happened. When I came to my senses, the deed was done. I glanced around hoping against hope that one of you might have been spared my savage lust but not one of you survived. I found myself looking into the rear view mirror and I noticed the tinge of red around my lips. My badge of shame. I glanced down and saw my fingers and shirt covered with a red goeey mess. What have I done? What have I done?

Sorry Strawberry, you were too delicious to resist.

Tierrie

But, its a good thing Lily did not ask.

green day

noreply@blogger.com (Tierrie) — Mon, 16 Oct 2006 23:49:00 +0000

Whatever happened to Green Day?

papa bell

noreply@blogger.com (Tierrie) — Fri, 13 Oct 2006 22:39:00 +0000

It appears that my iPod has whimsically selected Pachebel's Canon in D minor for my listening pleasure this afternoon. I haven't heard this one in months.

How do you do it iPod? Why do you play the violin[1] with my soul?

[1] technically, the violin, violin, violin and bass [2].
[2] i knew this before i confirmed it on wikipedia. jerks.

futility, watch

noreply@blogger.com (Tierrie) — Fri, 13 Oct 2006 18:09:00 +0000

My USB Flash Drive died yesterday.

Actually, its probably died a few days ago as I was tossing it around and dropped it repeatedly on the floor. But I had only just discovered its rotten putrid plastic corpse was dead yesterday. Yes, when it comes to technology care, I am El Supremo Destructor.

So its dead. I know this because when I plug its USB interface into my laptop the OS no longer recognizes it. Then, I remove it and plug it in again. And again, and again. Despite higher logic knowing that it is dead and no longer functioning, some primal aspect of my engineering mind is thinking that repetitive coitus between the flash drive and the laptop would somehow cure the flash drive of its impotence.

Though in retrospect, that's a bit like flash drive necrophilia.

But I am unbowed. After repeatedly inserting and removing the flash drive from my laptop, I move on to violating my desktop with the same urgent fervor that is typically reserved for moments when a man decides that chastity, in fact, is not for him.

Unsatisfied with the (non) results, I take my flash drive home and proceed to violate my USB hub with the flash drive's cold plastic corpse. Occasionally the flash drive's light would turn on but the computer would still not detect it.

Finally, after a day and night of techno plastic orgy, I have conceeded that in fact, my flash drive is no longer capable of "it".

So I am going to send it to some data recovery people. They can't save it, but maybe, just maybe, some of my data will make it out of that corpse.

Meanwhile, I am going to plug this flash drive into my desktop again, against reason, to see if it will work.

recantations

noreply@blogger.com (Tierrie) — Fri, 13 Oct 2006 02:04:00 +0000

Kai asked that I recant the statement "So what we have here, folks, is a person who sold his moral principles for a buck fifty" which I did.

I am sure there is something to say here about the importance of freedom of speech vs respect for a friend vs personal integrity. But I cannot think of what it might be.

So I take it back.

Also, I bought myself a French Press from Peets. And two bags of coffee -- Sumatran and Aged Sumatran. I believe that I am at my 4th cup so far.

Incidently, if you should find yourself so inclined to drink coffee, do visit Peets instead of Starbucks. Starbucks' coffee is frippery while Peets' barristers actually know their coffee.

I love Peets.

tense, tenser and tensererawr

noreply@blogger.com (Tierrie) — Wed, 11 Oct 2006 21:39:00 +0000

For all intent and purposes, this story began yesterday when my stupid friend and her boyfriend come by my house to pick up the two Sony 19 inch LCD monitors that has been my pride and joy for the past 2 years. I did so because I had bought myself two bigger pride and joys, Acer's 24 inch LCD and thought it would bring me happiness.

It did not.

I thought that a bigger monitor would pretty much mean a nicer brighter screen and more visibility and all that jazz. But as much as I try to be philosophical about it, a 24 inch is very much like a 19 inch if you move the monitor 1 feet backwards.

So I part with my monitors with such sorrow.

But I digress.

So this story began when they showed up. As they are apt to do, they hung around a bit chit chatting which is fine -- until He revealed himself to be a Republican. Stunned, I asked why and his response was that because Republicans give people like him a tax cut. I rebut by saying that as a middle class person he barely reaps the benefit of the tax cuts but he said that it is better than nothing.

I was totally agast that I had heard this from my friend. So after some thought I decided that I will stand for my principles and do what is right. I will ask him to hang out with me on voting day all day, and we will stay away from voting ballots.

Go me!

unwritten

noreply@blogger.com (Tierrie) — Tue, 26 Sep 2006 21:43:00 +0000

I went shopping at Target again today. There's something soothing about shopping at a relaxing, quiet department store without hoards of harried mothers with three kids screaming at the top of their lungs that they want more candy (don't give them anymore sugar you goddamn idiot) . Or shopping at a store where the products, despite being half the price of Target's, is of dubious quality. Here's looking at you Wal-Mart.

Anyway, I wandered around the store a bit looking at the Transformer toys and contemplating buying one to make up for my pathetic lack of Transformer toys during my childhood. I do this everytime I go to Target but I have yet to find one that I truly like.

Then I wandered into the book department hoping to find a good Terry Pratchett book I don't own yet but sadly, Target's book department is about three aisle of contemporary fiction targetted at old retirees or young trophy wives. However, I did find some good books that promised to be good reading but decided that I didn't really want to read about the life story of a gay man growing up. It was quite surreal, out of the three aisle there, one of them were children's books, another one was popular trash novels like Grisham, Archer, and the sopping lot of them, and the last one was rather bohemian writing of authors such as Marian Keyes and other womenly novels. I quick glance confirmed that about 80% of that shelf was written by women. I picked up a book written by one of the men (David something or another) and a quick read confirmed that the author was gay. Now this is simply an observation but I can't help but think that perhaps Target is not the best place to go for good books.

Finally as I was about to leave, I found myself passing the CD section -- and for some inexplicable reason, I walked out of the store carrying Natasha Bedingfield's Unwritten and a box of tissue paper.

This post has absolutely no point to it. I walked into a store. I bought a CD. I walked out. And I wasted my time writing a post about it. And now you have wasted your time reading it. Sucker.

righteous indignation

noreply@blogger.com (Tierrie) — Tue, 26 Sep 2006 01:45:00 +0000

My stupid friend spends her time making off the cuffs remarks in my replies. But she hasn't found it fit to tell me how she liked the books I recommended to her.

Now, Lily's generally a good sport and will read whatever I put in her hands, eventually. But I'm curious, the same way a chef prepares an excellent meal and anxiously awaits the compliments of his customers. Or the same way a vinter prepares the first glass of this summer's wine.

She has not seen it fit to tell me how excellent my selection is and how she's been living in a literary shadow all her life. I am indignant. Does Wolfgang Puck not deserve compliments (I don't know, someone treat me to this Puck's food please!)? Has Robert Mondavi not deserved his accolades?

Of course, I didn't write the books, but maybe the waiters deserve recognition too!

Jerk.

ps. I recommended Neil Gaiman, George R R Martin and Terry Pratchett to her. Though she's not read any of Pratchett yet. If she continues to be an ungrateful wretch I shall have to recommend books like Robert Jordan to her. Hahahaaaaa....

dark side of cacao

noreply@blogger.com (Tierrie) — Mon, 25 Sep 2006 22:05:00 +0000

I just bought some 72% cacao and 86% cacao chocolate (thanks random flickr person!). I read somewhere that these chocolate are amazing it should be worth noting that all the chocolate that is sold in local stores are mostly tiny bits of chocolate with huge amount of milk.

The 72% cacao chocolate tastes like a normal bittersweet choc but the 86% cacao chocolate tastes amazingly bitter and frankly, like a little piece of shit. No I haven't tried shit. But if I ever ate a brown substance that I wanted to spit out, this would be it.

But now, I am sooo mellow. Sooo mellow.

According to the post there is a 99% cacao chocolate somewhere. I want to see if I can get that

breaking news

noreply@blogger.com (Tierrie) — Mon, 25 Sep 2006 18:15:00 +0000

I made a big change in the way I view life today. I removed Latest News from my Google Personalized Page.

I think the best way to explain this is with a story. I had a manager who always bought the news paper. When he brought it into work, he would pick out the sports and funnies and leave the rest in the lobby. Every day he would ritually removed all the important news, business and leave it unread. I thought it was pretty naive of him to ignore affairs and one day I asked him why did he not read all the news.

He looked me in the eyes.

"All the news in the papers is usually bad news. Someone died. Someone in trouble. Someone bombing someone. I will find out eventually but I don't think I want to be one of the first to know. So I read the funnies and sports. In sports there are always winners, maybe my team will win, maybe another team will win -- but someone always does."

I think I feel the same way now. I'll find out eventually, but I don't think I want to be the first to know anymore. But I will still keep reading the funnies.

actuary

noreply@blogger.com (Tierrie) — Wed, 13 Sep 2006 00:39:00 +0000

Boys and girls, today's word of the day is Actuary. They are people who, basically, decide how risky you are to insure, and if you have to pay dingleberries or the kahoonas for your insurance policy.

I bring this up because I went out on a date with an actuary once. She was a petite little character who was preppy and mischievous. I was a nervous wreck driving a car with an out of state license. The location was the Lion King musical in San Francisco. It was great. The performance, not the date.

The performance was pretty much on the spot. Simba danced and played. Timone and Pummba did their little trickseys thing. The evil uncle tried to steal the throne. Simba grows up and reclaims it. I loved it.

As we walked back to the parking lot where my car was, I found a huge gaping hole with glass shards where my driver window was. Great!

What could I do? I drove her home. We sat in the car in front of her house, a cold breeze blowing through my shattered window. I looked at her and she said, "I'm sorry about your window". I replied, "I am sorry it happened". She got out of the car and said, "Keep in touch". I replied, "I will".

I never called. I didn't know what to say.

So whoever broke into my car, you ruined my date. Asshole.

taurine

noreply@blogger.com (Tierrie) — Wed, 13 Sep 2006 00:35:00 +0000

I finished my 2 weeks worth of antiobiotic program. Hopefully there will be no more icky tricky stomach ulcers for me (caused by bacteria) ever again! All things considered better late than never.

But this post is about taurine, the little known stimulant compound in Red Bull. I found a can lying around the fridge yesterday that I bought about a month ago on my stimulant binge. So I drank it. Zip zip zip!

the world is behind you

noreply@blogger.com (Tierrie) — Fri, 01 Sep 2006 19:08:00 +0000

My stupid friend recently wrote about her little apartment in Oakland. She has a lakeside view of Lake Meritt and a gorgeous far off view of the city. She has an organic grocery store where she buys organic chocolate. And its cozy and quaint.

This is good. Except for one thing. Its ten miles from ground level. Which in itself is not too bad, except the windows start at your knees and end near the ceiling. So its perfect, if you're trying to kill yourself.

Now I don't want to sound negative or anything, but it seems that all the windows are like this. So if you're looking out, enjoying the cool breeze after a hot summer's day; or if you're staring off into the distance and looking at San Francisco under a pale moonlight; you will be occasionally interrupted by a falling person.

Now this falling person may or may not have been pushed. All I am saying is that it is very easy to trip over the window. And they may have accidently leaned too far. And someone may have been behind them. This someone may or may not have been a jealous spouse who just found out that the person has been sleeping with another man/woman/man and woman/man, woman, donkey and a midget (see, I am progressive in my thinking).

Also, one of the inherent drawbacks of being 10 miles up in the air, is that when something bad happens, is that you're ten miles away from the ground. Which is bad. And last I checked, the Bay Area was prone to earthquakes. Just a tiny bit. And for your information, Oakland also once burned to the ground. So, my friend, is living life a bit riskier than she knows. Personally, if I wanted to live like that, I'd go to the Raiders game and scream "GOOOO NINERS". And that would have been preferable.

Oh another thing, she says she hates the drab gray of urban rooftops. Strangely enough, I find that the drap urban rooftops are particularly fascinating. Why? Because we live in a world with a bajillion other people. There's roofs over our head to block out the sun. There's offices with cubicles. Everywhere we go we see faces of people we don't know.

Being alone on a rooftop changes it all. On the roof you're far from the prying eyes of the public. On the roof, you are alone with the sky, the moon and the stars. Lying on a rooftop, the world is behind you -- and in front of you, the infinite possibilities of the universe.

ewww blegh snails

noreply@blogger.com (Tierrie) — Thu, 31 Aug 2006 21:09:00 +0000

I ate a snail. Intentionally.

It was an escargot. I imagine it was just oozing around merrily in its own garden , gnawing at leaves, and generally crawling around leaving a trail of slime. Then some nefarious Frenchie farmer comes along, picks it up, and throws it into a little bag. Terrified, it crawls into its shell.

A few horrific days later, it finally decides to see if everything's ok, only to have green bits of herb stuffed into its home and then slow roasted over a fire.

I hate snails. Snails disgust me. When I was a kid I'd sometimes accidently step on one and watch it go squish as its home is destroyed and its life, as it knows it, is over. It made me sad to know that I snuffed out another life. But I was more disgusted by the amount of ooze and slime that is now seeping everywhere.

So why the escargot?

I had also vowed to myself that whatever other cultures or people eat, I'd try it to. I encourage my friends to try all sorts of asian food, and I'd be a hypocrite if I didn't do the same.

Confronted by the most disgusting thing I've ever known, against becoming a potential hypocrite, I decided to gamely try the snail.

Yuck.

Chewy.

Like mussels.

simple pleasures

noreply@blogger.com (Tierrie) — Tue, 22 Aug 2006 21:07:00 +0000

When I'm too caught up with worries like, "what happens to us after we die" or "why do people kill others because they are told to by some invisible person who isn't even there", I think of simple things. Simple things that give me great joy and comfort.

Today, the simple thing is clean bedsheets. I love it whenever it is time to change my bedsheets, because the old one gets a bit gritty and is due for a wash. And then I put some new bedsheets down and it feels so smooth and comfortable. Neato!

beyond the sea

noreply@blogger.com (Tierrie) — Tue, 15 Aug 2006 21:48:00 +0000

Its been a week since I got the fever. But I'm feeling much better. Feeling upbeat and chirpy.

After lunch today I found myself with a little time and I decided to swing into Target to walk around in an air-conditioned area. And before I knew it I was in the CD area checking out the music and out of the corner of my eye I caught a single lonely Bobby Darin CD.

Bobby Darin.

What could I do? I bought it.. and now I'm listening to it. Music just doesn't come like this anymore.

Play it again Slide..

delirium

noreply@blogger.com (Tierrie) — Thu, 10 Aug 2006 17:43:00 +0000

So for the past week I've eaten less and less so I can skiv a bit off the edge. And on Monday night I was sitting around finishing up the half of the lunch I did not eat -- and then I thought, I could use a bit of a soup.. maybe I'll make this instant noodle tom yum and drink the soup and maybe eat the seafood bits in it. Which I did. Big mistake.

I woke up Tuesday feeling hunky dory until I got out of bed. Then this crazy gripping pain started in my stomach. But like a real trooper I went to work. Second big mistake. Right around 11am all that mattered in my world was a big mess of pain, headache and fever.

But this post isn't about my pain and anguish, its about the fever and delirium. You see, when I get a fever, which is fairly seldom, I can get delirious. Now I know people throw the word delirious all over the place to mean "haha you mad sucka foo". But in this case, its a real mind bending experience. The dreams start getting wierder.

So what is my point, really?

My point is that, sometimes you need people to rely on. If you're in a relationship, and you get sick and feverish where your mind is semi-gone, at least there'll be someone there who cares and perhaps wipe the sweat off your forehead as you mumble stupidly in your sleep. Or if you have a sibling or parent or relative nearby who can do the same. Now, I pride myself on my independence and the infallible logic of my mind. But there's nothing like a good delirious fever to shatter both that illusion right quick. So during that later half of that night, I stayed up wondering, "boy this would be a lot easier if I had someone who was taking care of me".

Boy, wouldn't that be a lot easier?