Sick.

I got the flu on Tuesday and it's completely laid me out. The last two days have been literally spent in bed. It's actually a silver lining on the unemployment cloud that's been hanging over me because if I did have a new job this would sure complicate things. In the same way I've been trying to treat my unemployment like a vacation in my lucid moments I've been enjoying the fact that I actually couldn't do anything but lay in bed with my face stuck in a book or a computer screen. Besides finally making headway in La Moustache I watched the first season of Dallas and two films: Cloverfield (which was better than I expected) and Wake in Fright (which was pretty excellent). It's a pretty decadent way to spend two days but then I was thinking back to the people who would come into the video store and rent four movies a night. What sad, lonely lives those must be. As much as I wanna be a slug it can take something like a 102 degree fever for me to let myself enjoy the experience.

My fever broke yesterday after hours of wiggling around, too hot to stop sweating, too cold to remove any layers. Today I actually got up, put my clothes and sheets in the laundry, made a million mile trek to the post office and got some groceries to make some spicy Indian food, which I suspect will make me feel better. At least I'll maybe sweat out more of the sickness. My roommate Tara (who gave me this fucking flu in the first place) said my complexion looks good from how open my sweaty pores have been, so why stop a good thing?

Plus, on Tuesday, as I felt the sickness descending on me, I walked down the block to the Super A to get some food for the next few days that I wouldn't have to actually prepare. This was good thinking on a practical level but trouble in that the healthiest food I could find were Lean Pockets (a mistake), Campbell's Soup (surprisingly, a bigger, saltier mistake) and a rectangular, microwave pizza (which I burnt really bad then ate like an animal, pulling chunks of cooling, blackened crust off something that looked like the 2001 monolith). I don't remember if you feed a cold and starve a fever but my body hasn't wanted food at all.

This morning Jesse made Tara and I smoothies and I appreciated how nice the people living in this house are. It sat heavy in my stomach on my million mile post office trek but I know my body was glad to have it. As I was walking I made a mental list of things my neighborhood has a lot of:

• Tiny, yappy dogs in small enclosures
• Pay phones
• Discarded televisions
• Abuelitas with interesting faces
• Restored classic cars

 Now that I can sit up without feeling like I'm going to die I'm going to begin being productive again and finish inking the artwork for the Gamma Knife album. There's lots of things to look forward to this weekend so I hope I don't relapse. I'm going to see Zero Dark Thirty with my new friend Andrea tomorrow; it's Josh and Sarah's birthday on Saturday (though I probably shouldn't drink), plus Tara's working as a photo assistant on some art project and I'm gonna see if I can tag along and maybe meet some people; then Sunday Audrey's throwing a Southern potluck.

Beginning.

I'd like to say that people keep asking me to start a blog about my new life in LA but it's not true. There's something to exhibitionistic about blogs that I feel like I need some validation from people clamoring for my thoughts and experiences before I take the step of putting them out there. 'Cause honestly I'm not sure if people care that much. I'd really only be navel-gazing for my own amusement. But maybe it's OK to navel-gaze once in a while.

The other thing that scares me is that I have so much trouble finishing things I start and then I feel like a failure. I'm choosing to take consolation in the idea that there's really no good place to end a blog so if and when I get tired of writing here there'll be no reason to beat myself up.