The Pursuit of Happiness, or Girl Interrupted

The butt crack rash cleared up pretty quickly, but then I was laid low by the flu AND strep throat for a week. I managed to miss three days of work (without pay, since I don't have any sick time left, and can't take my vacation until I'm off probationary status in May) and miss my oldest daughter's 26th birthday. Damn, I feel old.

I've been so tired and worn out, that I haven't yet gone to work out in the gym after work. I always think of some excuse. I've been having trouble breathing, probably a residual of the flu, and my back has been such a misery of pain that all I want to do after work is go home and go to sleep.

So this morning, I woke up with so much pain in my back that I figured the only thing for it was a pain pill or, just perhaps, well, a bit of relaxation in the form of the pursuit of happiness. (Sounds better than self-abuse to me.) Hey, if one can't find pleasure in oneself, in whom can one find pleasure?

To this end, first, let me say that anyone who doesn't self-medicate in this manner is either a liar or in dire need of psychiatric help.

And to the other end, well, the fait was not accompli. First, one of the kittens hopped on the bed, jumped in my face, and proceeded to try to nurse on my shirt, purring loud enough to wake the dead. I tossed him/her on the floor, and tried to pick up where I had left off. Then, Logan barrelled his way down the hall with the garbage, as it was trash day. (Am I too late for the trash? No, lady, hop right on!) Then Logan came back in the house, turned on the hall light, which shines into the bedroom, and my mood was killed entirely. Then, of course, die rousing of die kinder began, and any thought of resuming my ministrations was completely annihilated.

So whether or not this evening will prove more successful is yet to be seen. I hope to lure Logan into my boudoir with promises of a picnic in bed, a back rub, maybe even a little something for his troubles. Our love life has pretty much come to a screeching halt since he decided last August that it was just too painful, considering my weight and his decrepitude. But that shouldn't put a halt to EVERYTHING, dammit! If we were married, I'd divorce him for failing to perform his husbandly duties. I think it shows a lack of imagination on his part. Hell, I've managed to do a variety of sensual things in a variety of locations, positions, and degrees of drunkenness. Is it too much to ask him for a hand with my... pursuit of happiness once in a while?!?