a medical degree in fashion from france 

Over the weekend, I passed my two year anniversary of that time I almost died all over the place.  

I actually didn’t give it a single thought until it popped up on my Facebook feed as a memory I might want to revisit (thanks .. ?), which is actually kind of excellent. I mean, I’m not totally fixed yet – I’m still taking 85 pills a day (aka 7, three of which are not even related to my heart) and experiencing an occasional side effect or two – but my forgetting the Incident means that my health continues to be so much better that I have the luxury of not dwelling on it. Does that make sense? It does to me, but I have a headache and words don’t make sense anymore, so ymmv. 

I continue to be grateful and hashtag blessed that my life not only continues, but is filled with so much fun and ridiculousness that a lesser Kimli could literally not even. 

the amount of pleased i am is the precise amount this carved ivory baby is not.

some things are bigger than your fear

I woke up this morning in pretty rough shape*, but I forced myself outside for one (historic, epic, vast) reason. I don’t think the marches outside of Washington DC had been planned when I booked my trip, but that’s the glorious thing about so many people coming together in solidarity – it’s global. Hundreds of thousands (millions?) of women and men marched around the world today to demand women’s rights and protest against Trump and all he stands for, and it was a powerful thing to see. I’ve been on the verge of awed tears all day long (which is kind of exhausting, to be honest), and I wish that I could have been more evolved in the event .. but there are limits to what you can expect from yourself when you’re a) still sick but powering through as best you can, b) terrified of crowds, and c) traveling from afar with no room in your bag for poster board. I’m happy that I made it out, though.

*: I forget to eat when I’m on my own. Forgetting to eat when you’re sick (or, you know, ever) is a bad idea. I promise to be better to myself from here on out. Myself is pretty neat. Myself deserves at least a whole meal per day.

Pictures from today coming soon! In the meantime, enjoy this brilliant drawing by Shing Yin Kor:

llra

role model. (art by shing yin kor)

we are not amused

I leave for London in two days. Naturally, I woke up this morning with a painful chest cough. I’ve managed to avoid Ed’s mega-cold and all other seasonal ailments so far, but it seems fate was saving something special for me to launch at the worst possible time. Uncool, germs. Imma fight you.

Lately, I’ve been thirsty a lot and also craving salt. As part of my resolution to Adult Better, I’ve been drinking a lot of water. My heart medication (now there’s a phrase that makes you sound 80 years old) makes me pee 95 times a day, so I drink a lot of water to make sure I don’t get dehydrated. I still drink Diet Coke like it’s going out of style, but when I’m at home (which is 98% of the time because outside is cold and there are wolves) I’ll switch to water around noon and basically don’t stop drinking. That’s good, right? Water is life! Hydration is bliss! I’m a glowing, salad-laughing, yoga-pant-clad everywoman! Except .. well, like most other things in my life, I overdo it. I researched my symptoms, and according to the internet I’m all outta electrolytes (and also have 14 cancers). It all fits – the non-stop water craving, the salt lick I installed in my office, the severe and terrible muscle spasms I’ve experienced, the occasional nausea, etc. I am bad at water. I can’t even do healthy right.

I’m not about to start chugging Gatorade like I’m some sort of sponsored sport-man, so I guess this is one more thing I have to be aware of. I recently spoke to my heart doc to ask if I still had to take a mountain of meds each day (including my most-loathed medication, the Minty Shit Pill), and he wants me to keep on keeping on until at least June. When I get back from my travels, I’ll probably use Medeo to see if I can get some prescription-strength Tang or something, or at least have my kidneys checked to find out why they’re not pulling their weight around here.

In the meantime, I’m going to try to flush this stupid cough/sinus thing out of my system (by drinking tons of water). I am pretty choked about this new development, because I LEAVE IN TWO DAYS. Did I mention that in large enough letters yet? TWO DAYS. I don’t have TIME for this bullshit.

what time is it? NOT SICK TIME

what time is it? NOT SICK TIME

groundhog day

He didn’t see his own shadow so much as a shadowy splotch on my x-ray, indicating that my foot is still fractured. I have at least another 4 weeks in this stupid boot, then another x-ray and checkup to see if I will be free. It’s already been 9 (!) weeks since I broke my foot; what’s another 4? My only consolation is that the weather has been very dank this summer, so I’m not missing out on any prime beach time (she says, like she’d ever go to a beach in the first place because there is sand and bugs and sunshine and OTHER PEOPLE and those things are awful).

Dank.

I did attend the “Nice Girls Don’t Get the Corner Office” Lunch n’ Learn at my workplace last week. It was interesting-ish: we were sorted into groups based on the categories of the self-assessment, going where our lowest score was. My lowest score naturally came in “Look”, but went into the “Act” group. When asked why, I said that I thought the Look category was bullshit and that I had no plans to count my personal style as a workplace negative. That was fun.

I don’t know that the group exercise held much value for me, as we only had 10 minutes to discuss the common “mistakes” and suggestions for improvement among 11 people. Those who were the loudest had their topics of choice discussed, and while I’m sure I too suffer from varying degrees of wanting too much to be liked/not caring if I’m liked or not, it wasn’t my number one issue. I will likely pick up the book and read through the advice myself. To be honest, I’m not at all certain I WANT the corner office: I want to create and drive and learn and DO, not try to control it all.

A neat idea did come out of the talk, though. My co-worker Karen and I were talking after the session about the points that were discussed (we were in different groups), and our intern Kerri was drawn into the conversation. She had questions about the why of some things – why the coffee, why she shouldn’t always be the one to take notes – and something dawned on me: I learned these things after years of working in government and corporate jobs. No one ever sat me down and said “okay, here’s how to be adult woman: go”. So .. why *don’t* we? It’s so much easier to instil good habits than to try and break bad ones. I emailed a bunch of people, basically volunteering (it’s a bad habit I have) to lead a session with the new co-ops (or anyone else) each term that goes over stuff: how to be heard in meetings, how to communicate, how to make friends without becoming the team baker, what happens if you abuse Reply All, etc. Things that you aren’t specifically taught, but pick up after throwing a fit the first time you’re asked to serve coffee to all the men in the room or the 10th time you’re told to take meeting notes because you’re a girl and obviously all girls are secretaries. That sort of thing.

I don’t know if it’ll take off, but I’d love to do something like this (along with every other excellent idea I have that usually involves shaping terrifying young minds into my own image: boobs and purple hair for everyone).

JPEG image-3767ED3EE557-1

art via filter.

i made this and i'm stupidly proud of it so i'm posting it everywhere.

i made this and i’m stupidly proud of it so i’m posting it everywhere.

what’s up with that thang?

Here I go, here I go, here I go again –

Girls, what’s my weakness?

UV Rays.

Yesterday was the first fully glorious day in Actual Summer. The sun was shining, birds were singing, bees were trying to have sex with them (as is my understanding) .. so we went on a boat. We’ve rented wee speed boats in Horseshoe Bay multiple times before, and it’s always an amazing way to spend a few hours. We packed up snacks and drinks and Shan and took off on our usual route, stopping to say hello to seals and dream about living on a tiny island.

It was wonderful.

Less wonderful is how I managed to completely forget that a) the sun is hot and b) there was sunscreen in the snack bag that I really ought to have used. I burned my exposed parts to a deep, crispy red, and they all hurt like hell. According to the internet, I now have seven kinds of skin cancer caused by Sun Poisoning, all of which can be exacerbated by every single medication I’m on. I didn’t know that! Was I supposed to know that? Goddamnit, I don’t have time for this! I’m already broken!

This is why I can’t have nice things, like skin.

sure was pretty, though

sure was pretty out, though

 

 

in which my life suuuuuucks

It’s our last day in Barcelona. Instead of roaming the city, eating tapas, and being romanced by swarthy Spaniards (all of whom want to sell me a selfie stick), I am sitting in my hotel room all by myself having an epic pity party: I’ve been sick for the last 2 days with what is most assuredly the most disgusting and horrible stomach flu I’ve ever had in Spain. The only thing I can keep down is fruit and fruit-based beverages, which makes Barcelona a pretty damn convenient place to be. There’s amazing and bountiful fruit all up in this bitch (“bitch” referring to both myself and the city).

Oh good, a delightful sea breeze just blew the shutters of my hotel Juliette balcony wide open so now I can see the sunshine and gorgeous city I’m missing out on. That’s nice.

I’ll upload my photo gallery when I have a better internet connection, and share some stories when we’re home. Illness aside, I’ve had a wonderful time in Spain – we’re already talking about coming back at a time when Ed’s brain chemistry isn’t made of what my stomach is producing at this moment. That will be lovely. If you’re ever in the mood for some winter jamón, I can’t recommend Barcelona in February enough – the weather is fantastic, it’s less crowded (which is kind of scary, I can’t imagine this place in the summer), and see above re: bountiful fruit, should you come down with late-vacation rectal failure.

You’ve been lovely, Barcelona. I will return, and we will make like the Erotic Museum until we’re both dehydrated and in need of pubic grooming. Until then, I am sad and sick and lonely and sad and really kind of pathetic but damnit, I’m missing out on a third of my vacation and that fucking blows.

just me, my germs, and this marzipan bumblebee.

gone viral

I’ve had a sore throat for 5 days. I thought it was caused by whatever the precursor to Korean Fan Death is, but when it didn’t let up I booked an appointment with a clinic. I was mostly in “wait and see” mode, but the online doctor requested I go see someone in meat space because she interpreted my blood results as my body trying to fight something off that likely wasn’t related to my slacker heart. Tired of not being able to swallow without making faces, I caved and booked myself in for a prodding.

The appointment was an epic shit show from the beginning. I hate walk-in clinics, but they’re my only real option in cases like this (even though we all know how well that worked out for me when I was trying to diagnose why I couldn’t breathe). Luckily, the clinic I use has an online appointment system so you can skip the wait. I booked myself an appointment last night, but when I arrived, I was told the doctor I was supposed to see wasn’t even in today, and there was an hour wait to see anyone. I was pretty furious at this, because I didn’t exactly want to sit in a crowded waiting room full of sick people – it’s why I used the goddamn booking system in the first place – but I didn’t have much of a choice: my sore throat had progressed in alarming and disgusting ways. I sighed, and took a seat to begin my wait.

.. and that was when an elderly Japanese lady asked me when my baby was due.

I stammered that I wasn’t pregnant, and I know the lady felt pretty terrible about asking me, but it still took all my willpower not to cry in the waiting room. The tears welled up several times, but I held fast onto my towering anger at being in this situation at all to keep them at bay. Finally, my name was called, and I was whisked away to see a doctor for a total of 96 seconds.

She looked at my throat and took my temperature, and came up with a verdict of virus. It’s not the Return of Strep, which is good – I was more than a little terrified that the cycle of slowly dying aloud was going to start all over again – but other than that, everything sucks. There are no drugs they can give me for this. I’m just supposed to wait it out, but in the meantime, I’m in pain and am sad down to my very bones. We’re supposed to be leaving for Seattle in an hour or so, but I don’t know that I should go – technically I’m contagious AND have a weakened immune system, both of which point to a sequestering. I could get other people sick. Other people could make me sicker. But .. I’ll miss Ali’s birthday and partying with people and having fun. I don’t know what I should do.

I’ve never before been asked if I was pregnant, and MAN does that sting. I made it home before collapsing in a puddle of tears, and now I am literally sobbing into some cheesecake. It is perhaps a little clichéd and counter-productive, but if there was ever a time that called for cheesecake, this is it. I am a sad, sad Kimli.