Yes, my computer is currently boxed up and in the garage, for an indeterminate length of time. It's a mildly interesting story, actually, or at least one fraught with irony. I was supposed to be all packed up and moved out on Thursday, so that my housemates could paint and recarpet my place. But then on Monday-- when the packing was supposed to begin-- I got the flu. Mostly just chills, sweating, dizziness and weakness. So I spent Monday and Tuesday in bed, and then I was basically sort of screwed because I have a lot of shit in my apartment and had done exactly nothing about it.

I was still feeling sort of drag-ass on Wednesday and really overwhelmed, but fortunately for me, Ian was willing to risk catching the flu, to do the manly heavy lifting, and to drive very far to come and help me. I made a list of things for us to do, and I think "nap" was on there like eight times. He saw the list and then told me I could issue instructions and then nap while he took action. But of course, I'm not quite that much of a diva, although I did get dizzy and have to lie down a few times.

So anyway, we moved all the big things (and by "we" I mean "Ian") and a lot of the little things, but there were still a lot of little things around. The end part of the plan was "throw things in this box and in these drawers randomly." Which we then proceeded to do. Whereupon my housemate came downstairs and said, "Oh, you can chill out with the packing. We postponed the painting. I got the flu."

Cue the jingle of irony!

The bright side of this was that I really wasn't ready for the whole moving thing, even after three hours of vigorously issuing instructions. The other bright side was that I got a nap! And a good head start on the packing. The downside is that poor Ian came all the way from Sacramento into my Zone of Contagion for nothing. And now all my stuff is crammed into random drawers, and I can't find anything. And-- here we come to the point of the story-- my computer is gone.

Yesterday I got home pretty late from work, and all I did was chill out and watch TV. But I kept wanting to get up and look things up on the internet! "Which rerun of E.R. are they showing tonight?" " Hey, where do I know that guy from?" "I should send Charlotte a birthday e-card!" "Where's the full list of Golden Globe nominees?" " I wonder how you spell tetragrammaton."

It is deeply frightening to me how much I have come to rely on the internet to answer any question that could possibly flit across my mind. And it's also incredibly cool that the internet exists in general, holding answers to these and so many other questions. And it's also probably character-building for me to be without it for a few days.

So for now, I'm going to leave it in the box and work on building my character. And maybe it will even give me a chance to start cleaning out those drawers.

Speaking of the wonders of the internet, I ordered some prescription drugs online, which is apparently legal if you are buying it for personal use. I feel like an outlaw, but there's a big business in online prescription drugs out there, and it is reportedly licit. Okay then!

What did I buy? Well I got this great e-mail promising me a sixteen-inch cock, and I thought I'd give it a try! (Aah, spam humor.) No, I bought antibiotics. Because I have a UTI, again, still. What happens is I get them, and they hang out for months and months until I finally go to the doctor, whereupon they clear up briefly and then come back. Ad infinitum.

My options were either A) Go to the doctor, pay my ridiculous co-payment and lab fees and prescription charges, get a pap smear, pee in a cup, have the doctor say, "You have a UTI," and be out like $150, or B) Pay $25 to a mildly shady Mexican pharmacy over the internet, and just get the damn drugs.

The internet pharmacy also suggested some things that a doctor might do if you have recurrent UTIs, such as put you on a low-dose of daily antibiotic for six months, or have you take a very short course every time you have a flare-up, or take one dose every time you have sex. Every time I go to the doctor, I explain my entire history, how I have them all the time, and they never go away, and none of these courses of action has ever been suggested to me.

So today's lesson is, you can get better health care advice from a Mexican internet pharmacy than from any doctor in America. What a complete non-shock.