Abigail M. Schilling

(That is one of my favorite statements in the English language. It's all my emotions rolled together into a three-word introduction.)

Wednesday morning I read the internet, went to work, and returned late late Wednesday night due to heated Tetris Attack tournament. I went to check my email and... nothing. I was too tired to reset the router so I went to sleep hoping the internet would miraculously heal itself overnight. No such luck. I called Charter Thursday afternoon and woo boy did I YELL. I think my co-worker was scared of me for maybe the first time ever. (He probably thought I was going to cry.) They had me fax some things over and told me to call back Friday.

But Friday I was sick. I woke up all congested and sore throated. I stayed in bed bemoaning my pitiful existence until I finally annoyed myself so much that I put on sick gear (jeans and sweatshirt in June) and decided to make an appearance at my office to check my email and call Charter back and make them turn my internet back on. Of course, when you've been away from the 'net for almost 24 hours there is a lot more to read than just email and I overwhelmed even myself with the amount of tabbed browsing I was doing.

I finally talked Charter into turning my internet back on and I think I will eventually be calm enough to tell the whole Charter story and how I hate them so. They said someone should make the reinstall on Friday afternoon. I couldn't bear the thought of just sitting around waiting for the internet to come back on so I took my loser self over to my old house, tissue in tow, and played Tetris Attack for all of time. I vaguely remember someone making me drink some sprite. Besides that, I can't recall anything else. Except I said no to some Vodka drink. That's really how you know I'm sick.

I layed low most of Saturday knitting and reading blogs (thank you, Charter), and plotting my escape to wellness. By that point I was mostly just nursing a sore throat so when I received the text, "We're going to a karaoke bar, you in?" I of course replied, "I will meet you there."

Sorry, Madonna. Truly, I apologize for singing Like A Prayer with hardly a voice and no sense of ... well, anything. I can even imagine what I sounded like. The good news is that out of all of my friends I am the only one that would have thought to video tape that moment and I didn't. However, the cute boy that asked me to sing the song in the first place told us to all come back. Maybe he was too drunk to remember. Here's hoping.

Going out was probably a bad idea since today I'm back to Friday's degree of sickness and my nose is raw. But I'm young and it's the summer. So, no regrets, right?

Carolyn was out of town for a week and just came home. She brought dinner. Wise, since I haven't eaten anything besides ice cream since Thursday. She probably should never leave again ever.