Last weekend, for instance, I had dinner with Dad's cousins Jeff and Candy, who were in from out of town, and I spent two days at the Old Town Art Festival; I went on Saturday with Lauren, and was so impressed with the quality of the show that I dragged Mom back for a rather expensive outing on Sunday. I picked up two great prints, and Mom got a highly detailed little bronze sculpture now gracing my mantelpiece, and a piece of fiber art that is just the right size for the little niche next to the doorway.
Images of the sculpture Mom picked up this weekend.
It's been a long time since I was so impressed with a local art show. Most of the shows in the suburbs that I once frequented have been taken over by Amy Amdur, a woman who came up with the idea of creating an art festival production company, so that local art fair organizers could outsource to her at a savings. Unfortunately, she puts the same artists in nearly all of her shows, and she and I do not have similar taste. See one of her shows a year, and there's no need to see another one. The Old Town Art Festival, however, has remained independent for all of its sixty years of existence, and that is most definitely in its favor.
However, even though I enjoy getting out and exploring the city, my body doesn't know how to cope with all this running around. I started feeling run down over the weekend, with the slightest of sore throats. It really didn't hurt unless I was swallowing, and I could tell that my tonsils must have been swollen because it was also more difficult to swallow. I was much more tired than normal (and I'm normally pretty tired, as an evening person who is forced to work a job with a normal schedule), and despite getting more sleep than normal on Monday and Tuesday nights, I was still so exhausted on Wednesday that I took a sick day. I spent most of the day sleeping, and didn't really suspect there was anything wrong with me besides a virus, so I ignored my parents' suggestions that I go see the doctor.
Late in the afternoon, on a whim, I decided to take a look at my throat in the mirror to see what was going on in there. Lo and behold, it was a fearsome sight indeed. I'll spare you the details, but I knew it wasn't normal, so I decided I ought to have it checked out after all. I made a journey to the nearest urgent care center (Which, if you ask me, is a total racket: there was a $100 co-pay just to see the doctor and get a rapid strep test, and they didn't warn me how much it was going to cost until I'd already seen the doctor. If something is going to cost $100, they should tell you before you incur the charges; I bet some people would walk away upon hearing that.), where they ascertained that I didn't have strep throat. Having had strep more times than I can remember growing up, I really didn't think that was what was wrong with me, as my throat didn't hurt in remotely the same way. Instead, the doctor suggested that I might have mono. In fact, I believe her exact words were, "Say ahh. Yeah, that looks like it could be mono."
For the time being, it could still be a virus. The doctor did not want to do a blood test, because she thought I was too early in the course of experiencing symptoms to have produced enough antibodies for an accurate test. Instead, I'm supposed to wait a week and go back for the test if I'm not feeling any better. So keep your collective fingers crossed that I'm feeling better by next week, because I really don't want to have mono. There's just too much on my agenda for 2009 to spend the next several months battling with debilitating exhaustion. Not to mention, I don't think a chronicle of "I'm tired, I slept all day, I'm going back to bed," would be much of a good read...