Strange things indeed.
Like, I've now become paranoid about my grooming habits - in particular, the time and frequency with which I brush my teeth. Remember the question from yesterday's survey that asked how often do you brush your teeth? My answer: always in the morning, and I try to before I go to bed
Now, since last night (wow I'm getting distracted easily... I typed the first half of this sentence over half an hour ago) I've seen five people do the same survey, plus the person that I copied the quiz from in the first place. Now, two of them brush twice a day, and one is not specific, but the other three all brush their teeth at night instead of in the morning. At night, people!
I mean, what about morning breath? Back in the day when I would occasionally wake up next to somebody, I could barely even kiss him without brushing my teeth first. Now, granted... back in that day I actually brushed before I went to bed as well. But I still had to brush my teeth every morning.
Now, don't get me wrong... I'm not knocking anybody that doesn't brush his teeth in the am. Quite the opposite, I'm wondering if I wouldn't have such stanky breath in the first place if I would just brush them before I went to sleep.
This morning I became engrossed in Animal Planet. Oh man, there was this one episode of Emergency Vets that really tore me up. This sweet little one-year-old dalmation got hit by TWO cars, but really the only thing she had wrong with her was nerve damage in one of her front legs. They determined that nothing could be done to save the leg, but instead of agreeing to have the surgery to amputate, the owner decided to put the dog down! I just don't get it. (And please don't send me any hate mail about how it's cruel to remove an animal's leg.) I've seen plenty of happy dogs and cats with only three legs.
This sweet puppy was a survivor, and now was being put down. And to make matters worse, the owner couldn't face watching them euthanize her, so she just left the clinic! Oh, that sweet little doggy. I just cried and cried.
Now, I understand that everybody's different and that it's a personal choice, but MAN I wanted to be there with that little dog.
Oh! Good news today... Carl (aka Mr. Vague - my boss) called this morning, and he goes, "Why don't you just count these as sick days and save your vacation?"
There was no way I was going to ask him if I could do that. It just seemed kinda weird to have planned a certain week off, and then say "oh by the way, I was sick that week so now I'm going to take off a DIFFERENT week for vacation". But he actually suggested it himself.
Carl, you are officially the shit.
I'm feeling a lot better today. I've reached the stage where I feel like decontaminating my sheets and picking up glasses and kleenexes I've left around the room, but even after such menial tasks I become exhausted and break out into a sweat.
I feel pretty confident that by tomorrow I should be able to get out of the house and get some fresh air. I never thought that I would say this, but I'm officially sick of the tv.
Before I go I want to say congratulations to Heather and Brian on their first hummer. Here's wishing you many more!