I'm not dead. Also, here's a book review.

Kind friend Karen commented on my last post, "I'm worried that you haven't posted in several weeks. I'm hoping that you are busy with good things and not in ICU."

Thank you for your concern. Gurrrl, lemme tell you.

While it seemed highly likely that I had contracted some sort of mouse syphilis to go along with my Chilean lung leprosy and antibiotic reaction, that did not turn out to be the case. Discovering a gigantic mouse in my kitchen that then crawled up my bare leg didn't actually kill me, which was a bit of a shock.

No, instead, I have still been dealing with the Chilean lung leprosy. Because I'm sexy like that, and I hear coughing is the new flashing a boob.

When My Guy picked up my antibiotics, the pharmacist was careful to tell him that they might interfere with birth control. Bless his heart, my husband's response was, "All she does is cough. I ain't touchin' her."

So, there's that.

Thankfully, I've mostly stopped coughing and the antibiotics have done their job. I feel insane, but confident that I can get through the last 2.5 days of this Augmentin haze ... not that I'm counting down the minutes or anything. Ahem.

I'm exhausted. I've been sick for 5 weeks. It's ridiculous, and I'm just now starting to feel human again.

But you know what's a great activity when you feel like you have nothing to contribute to the world? Cleaning your closets.

It sounds like I'm joking, but I'm not.

I read "The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up" by Marie Kondo. This is the book that's been all over - people seem to either embrace it or think that the author is a special, banana-sandwich level of crazy. I'm pretty impressed and happy with what it's done for me so far.

The author's thesis is that you shouldn't have anything in your house that doesn't give you joy. And you should touch all your stuff, and gauge how you feel when you touch it, and then keep or get rid of it accordingly.

As ridiculous as it sounds, this was a great activity when I was feeling sick. Because when you clean out your closet and throw all your clothes on the bed? You can lounge on the bed, too. I'd sort through some clothes, then take a break by flopping down next to the clothes. I was one with the clothes. It was either insane or very Zen.

I liked this book because it gave me permission to get rid of guilt-inducing clothes. Kondo basically says that even if you bought a skirt and then never wore it, it served its purpose - it made you feel happy when you bought it, or it taught you that orange isn't your color, or it helped you realize you've never been a size 00 and those people just need to eat sandwiches or whatever. And it's OK.

I cleaned my closet and dresser, and even refolded much of my stuff in Kondo's recommended fold / roll / stack-on-the-end style. I must admit that it's pretty gratifying to open a drawer and be able to see at a glance what's in there instead of digging around. Keep in mind that my wardrobe consists of about 98% t-shirts and jeans, but still.

I haven't gone through my shoes or books, but the impact on my closet was definitely worth the price of the book.

Have you "Kondo-ized" your house? What did you think? And have you ever had Chilean lung leprosy? How long did it take you to feel like a semi-normal human again?

Why I should stay out of the kitchen.

I've been sick. Real sick. I had a cold and that cold morphed into some sort of chest madness that I'm pretty sure is tuberculosis mixed with Chilean lung leprosy. I've been hacking up a lung for literally 3 weeks.

I finally broke down and took some antibiotics, even though I hate antibiotics. And those antibiotics made me feel better for a day and a half, and then they made me feel queasy and itchy and hot and dizzy and generally insane. I realized too late that I'm allergic to these demon antibiotics.

And so, I did what any normal girl would do. I went to Whole Foods and bought 2 bags of Red Hot Blues potato chips because they're the only thing that sounds good. I bought chips and Breathe Easy tea and oil of oregano and planned on healing myself without the devil antibiotics. I bought some soup and tried to keep my shit together.

Which brings us to this evening.

Tonight, I peeled my queasy, coughy self off the couch and warmed up some of the soup I had procured from Whole Paycheck. I poured the soup into a pan, and then opened the silverware drawer for a spoon.

There was a fur muff inside the silverware drawer!

The fur muff was moving!

The fur muff was a fat mouse, just chilling in my silverware drawer at 7 o'clock at night!

I screamed. I screamed like a virgin in a horror movie. I screamed, and the mouse ran down the outside of the cabinet and across the kitchen floor.

Like any sane woman, I levitated across the kitchen. But the mouse followed me! The mouse followed me, ran across my foot and climbed up my bare leg.

I hoisted myself up against the counter and kicked. I kicked like my life depended on it! I kicked and that mouse hit the floor, then scampered behind the stove.

Next thing I knew, I was in the dining room, looking into the kitchen. And I was still screaming. I stopped screaming just in time to hear the stove make a weird beeping noise, probably because the mouse was hot-wiring it, like a car.

I decided to scream once more for good measure. It felt good, and right. I wondered if the neighbors could hear. I didn't care.

After I collected myself somehwhat, I texted my husband the CliffsNotes version of the saga. I also informed him that I was burning down our house. As I glanced at his rather satisfying "holy shit!" response, I realized that the dogs were both lounging near the kitchen.

Those losers had done nothing to help me in my time of need! They hadn't become alarmed in the slightest when I was being so cruelly attacked, nor did they respond when I made sounds that I'm sure have never come out of my body before. Note to self: screaming doesn't interest dachshunds or labradoodles.

Today, I have been sorely disappointed by asshole antibiotics and lazy, no-good dogs. Also, by the vermin who continue to attack my kitchen. But I do feel like a mighty warrior, a survivor. Like Cher.