My temporary roommate suggested that part of the problem is that I need to spend more time stretching (and by more time, I mean any time). She suggested yoga, which I wouldn’t mind getting back into. And, so, tonight I started a new regimen: just a few simple stretches before bed. Maybe if I just do some stretches once or twice a day, it’ll make a difference.

Here’s hoping.

.Two.
It’s really, truly Autumn now. The days are sunny and nippy. I’ve turned on the heat every day for a week. And the comforter is back on the bed with blanket after blanket underneath, including my soft, soft flannel sheets. I do love Autumn.

I don’t know if it’s just the past two weeks catching up with me or if I’m descending into whatever flu-illness goes around when the weather changes, but I am totally worthless today. Well…maybe not totally worthless. I did get up at 5 a.m. to go over a project one last time before sending it off to the client. But then I went back to bed. Until 11 a.m. With the exception of one very terrifying moment when my friend came by to drop off my extra house key at 8 or 9. I have no idea what I even said. I just know that Luna barking next to my ear while I was in REM was the most terrifying thing that has ever happened.

Anyhow, I think it’s the stress. All catching up to me in one big pile of You Must Sleep for Three Days Straight. And that lengthy sleep would be justified…if by nothing else, by the extensive set of family scares or emergencies of the end of May.

It started with my uncle’s mother, who passed away. She lived a long life, but, still: sad.

My uncle flew to the Midwest for her funeral and to get things rolling with the sale of her house. Actually, his house. You see, he bought the house for his mother to live in, but he still owns it. So now he has to clean things up and get that sucker on the market.

Only there’s a complication: one violently angry drug addict living in the house. Violently angry because she feels entitled to continue living in his house. For free. Obviously. So when he said, sorry, you have to leave, she told him she’d kill him.

In the end, he couldn’t even go to his own mother’s funeral…for fear of being shot by out-of-her-mind Meth addict. Plus (bonus!) she brought over her Meth-head friends and had them trash the house before she moved out. Holes punched in all the doors, many of the walls. They took the kitchen drawers…and the bathroom drawers. They took his furniture and stole the car. And they left garbage strewn everywhere. A little parting gift from America’s entitled drug-addict masses.

While my poor uncle was dealing with all this halfway across the country, his wife was dealing with a series of crises all her own. You see, because they own a large ranch with horses, cats and dogs and because they had just moved all these animals up there for the summer, it made more sense for her to stay behind while he went to deal with the death in his family. Of course, they didn’t know how things would roll out then. But either way, life wouldn’t have been good.

As soon as he boarded his plane for the Midwest, their oldest, sweetest, favorite horse started rolling around on the ground. Now, for those of you (like me) who are not horse-educated, when a horse starts rolling around, it can be a sign of colic. Colic is a life-threatening problem that happens when something is wrong with the horse’s intestines and the horse can’t poop. Because he can’t poop, he starts rolling on the ground, trying to work out the pain in his belly. But rolling is the worst thing he could do…because horse insides are kind of crappy. And if they roll around, they can actually twist their intestines, causing an even worse blockage.

Of course, my aunt noticed the rolling and put the horse straight into her trailer, driving down to her local vet. Unfortunately, her vet isn’t outfitted for the surgery he needed, so he put the horse right back in the trailer and gave her directions to another vet all the way up in Denver. It was the worst kind of two-hour drive.

That’s when I got brought into the loop. Down to the vet I went to be with a distraught aunt while she waited to hear what was wrong with her horse. Still, while worried, she was hopeful.

She shouldn’t have been.

An hour after they rushed him into surgery, they found the cause of the blockage. Not only had the horse twisted his intestines all around, but there was a tumor wrapped around them, cutting off access. To save the horse, they would have to untwist the intestines, remove the tumor, chop out part of the intestines and try to reattach them. The prognosis wasn’t hopeful. And it was going to cost some big bucks.

So she had to put him down. Her favorite horse. While her husband was in the air, on the way to danger of his own. She was, of course, devastated.

I didn’t think she should drive home on her own, so I went home and got Luna and my computer. I called my clients and asked for an emergency extension on projects. And I made my way out to the ranch to distract and hopefully help my aunt.

If you’re not an animal person, it might not sound like a big deal to you. But it’s a big deal. That horse was her first baby. And now he’s gone.

We spent the next four or five days at 100 mph…keeping busy, keeping distracted. In between, I stole moments to work on my projects.

It was sad and stressful and I still worry a bit about them. My uncle is back and all the remaining animals seem healthy and I’m sure that things will start looking up soon. But they’re exhausted and drained. And I’m sad and tired. And last week, which was a short week, was catch-up week…which meant a lot of work in a little time, all while trying to still get exercise, say farewell to a friend who is moving, eat healthy and take care of a still-sick Luna.

In summary, maybe I’m just tired, not sick. But boy oh boy am I tired.

Once I finish this week’s big projects, I’m getting a massage.

Can you say perfect?

Can you say exactly, precisely and totally what I need?

Can you say that there were 1001 people there also thinking “this is exactly what I need” and, thus, filling out applications?

Oh yes. And oh no.

Someone else is ahead of me in line for this Perfect Apartment and I’ve offered to pay them to give up their spot. Uh…pray!

1. “Focus your marketing on helping other people.” -Michael Steltner

2. “Good content shares or solves.” – @marketingprofs

3. Today the design staff was having a conversation about spanking each other. Good times. #inappropriateworkconversation

4. Enjoying a whole blissful weekend without Evil Genius eating matches, sunglasses and tin foil.

5. So tired. That’s all.

Dislike: fake philanthropy–doing good just to get ahead.

Am annoyed by: EvilGenius (the new puppy)’s need to leap into the air and try to knock me over every ten minutes.

Am newly intrigued by: #Blogchat on Twitter. Check it out.

Miss: sleeping in. That hasn’t happened since I got Luna.

Wish: that there were more time.

It’s been a long time. I know. And I’m sorry. Well, more sorry for me than for you really. Because the reason I haven’t written, the reason I’ve been incommunicado and cranky and prone to short bursts of crying, is because I have Bed Bugs. Well, perhaps I should say had. Past tense. I have not gotten a bite in a week, which supports the past tense theory.

So, for those of you who are blissfully naive, let me tell you about bed bugs:

1. They bite you. They bite you all over. They bite you hard. They suck your blood and they leave enormous itchy welts all over your body. It’s very attractive and delightful. They’re my favorite animal.

2. They’re visible. Oh yes, they look like ticks. You can totally see them and–BONUS–you can also see inside their tiny bodies, where your blood fills their tummies. Yum.

3. They live everywhere. Apparently, they’re impossible to get rid of. I’ve already tossed most of my furniture, all of my luggage and a good bit of clothing/hats/accessories.

Oh, yes, my dearest darling readers. These delightful creatures, who live in your bed, your couch, your chairs, your clothes and your carpet–they are wonderful housemates. Not at all gross.

And being as they are not at all gross, the Cherry Creek Club does not seem to care that they’ve overrun my entire life. That’s right folks, shockingly, CCC is not paying for a damn thing, not giving me free rent, not even waiving final utilities or saying they are sorry. Even though their whole complex is, apparently, infested.

Have I mentioned before that you should NOT LIVE IN THE CHERRY CREEK CLUB?

So, what now? I was going to wait and go month to month a while and figure out where to move. But, alas, since the bugs are probably going to come back over from the neighbor’s house as soon as the treatment wears off, I’m off apartment and roommate searching every second of my life. Well, in between working too hard and doing laundry 1000837 times (an hour in the dryer kills the BBs–go dryer go!).

In summary, my life is delightful. Next week is my birthday. Happy freaking birthday to me.

Dear Flickr, it is not my fault your system hates people trying to pay it. Give me back my damn Pro account. Love, Gigi

Cherry Creek Club still sucks. Air conditioning = broken. Weekend temperatures = 100s. Maintenance scheduler guy = confused.

Account Exec at work sent me a file called “HO-email.” HO apparently stands for homeowners. But I have spent 24 hours laughing anyway.

Why does everyone who hangs out at Starbucks in Glendale smell like they have been hunting on the Savannah and haven’t bathed in sixteen days?

Also, Cherry Creek Club is stupid.

Thing two: I want some Wiener Schnitzel. Please, dear God.

Thing three: after my post about forwards, Google thought it would be appropriate to put dump truck ads in my sidebar. It took me a long time to figure out this was because I mentioned the artillery-equipped garbage truck. Good job, Google.

Thing four: I’m off to eat Indian food, a sad second to my brilliant Austrian food plans.

All I can think about is ice cream and chips and cookies. “What do you mean you need me to write some headlines? Oh man, wouldn’t it be nice…ice cream, chips, cookies…

In light of that, I did spend some time at the grocery store today–purchasing sorbet, which is much closer to real food than ice cream. I then returned home to have chicken noodle soup (of which I ate too much) for dinner along with some chips (all natural, baby – hey, don’t judge) and natural salsa.

.Two.
I attribute my utter need to binge to a few important factors (without these things, my week of Eat Real Food would be so much easier–so much).
1. My Little Friend, The Rag, snuck up on me this week. This results in unhappy, eat-everything-in-sight times.
2. The stress level at my job after coming back from business trips is always a few points higher. This makes me alternately feel like eating nothing or eating everything.

.Three.
Also, I am cranky.

The day I went to the doctor was also the day that the ear infection started. Probably brought on by the strep, would be my guess.

So I spent another day (last Monday) thrashing in bed, sweating, crying and unable to focus.

Finally, the amoxicillin kicked in and, with a numb throat and no hearing in my right ear, it was back to work. Well, sort of. Of course, this meant totally overdoing it and spending that Friday again bedridden with one very confused dog, who wasn’t sure why we were not at work or, at the very least, awake in the middle of the day.

The problem I encountered after the meds started to kick in was this: incredible and overwhelming dizziness. Dizziness that still lives on today. Dizziness that means driving isn’t really an option. And that makes me wonder what my options are come Monday. Ugh.

Apparently this dizziness may be a side effect (albeit a rare one) of amoxicillin; or it may be caused by the ear infection, since your ears are the home of your equilibrium.

I tend to think it’s the amoxicillin, since I’ve had about 5897362 ear infections in my life and never remember this kind of dizziness, but I don’t think I’ve taken amoxicillin before and so have no dizzy or non-dizzy episodes to compare it to. The doctor thinks it’s the ear infection — but again I beg to differ.