Boy, do I love me some Honey Nut Cheerios. J bought me a box yesterday, and I have to confess that when I went to pour myself a bowl this morning... most of them were gone. That's right, because my menu for yesterday went something like this:

• bowl of cereal
• bowl of cereal
• bowl of cereal
• bowl of cereal
• bowl of cereal
• salmon, salad & rice (see? I know how to eat nutritiously)
• m+m's
  
• warmed-over Chinese food leftovers (oh well, there was one healthy thing somewhere on today's menu)
• bowl of cereal

I kid you not, that was exactly what I ate yesterday, give or take one or two bowls of cereal. Do you ever have days like that, or is that just me?

I claim mitigating factors, though: I had been scared and stressed the day before by the sight of my loved one inexplicably doing the Mashed Potato on our floor (update: he finally got a doctor that took this seriously: he had blood tests yesterday and he'll see a neurologist next week. Now we wait and hope that someone can figure out why this happens to him every year or so. Oh, and he can't drive until they figure it out. AND-wait for it- we just got the car fixed. Life, eh?), and I woke up yesterday feeling all dizzy and sickly. I know- what the hell is going on in this house? In fact, I began to wonder if that was exactly it: was it, in fact, the apartment that was making us feel weird? Yesterday night, after a record day of doing almost nothing (hey, it's hard to do stuff when you feel as if you were riding an amusement park ride or drinking too much all day. I had to take some anti-nausea pills just to start actually moving) I attacked the bathroom and kitchen with a vengeance. Dirt, be gone! Mold, stop growing!

If you Google "Mold" online, you can read a truly horrifying litany of all the things it can do to your health- and yes, seizures and dizziness are both on there. Now I'd be very surprised if mold was making us sick, since we are well almost all the time. But it was a good wake-up call, and our place is cleaner this morning because of it.

This is a weird post. I have some other ideas brewing; I want to write more about the concept of being "grown-up" (which includes cleaning your apartment and bugging the building manager to do some maintenance, already, and paying taxes, etc. etc). And I want to write about how an otherwise sensible woman can run 10km and spurn cigarettes, but still not manage to lose weight. And other cheerful stuff. But today I have to get ready for the big Redboot tour of Vancouver Island: practice, publicity, etc.

I want to leave you with a story of optimism, to balance out the health worries and navel-gazing that go on around here:
My friend Russ plays the double bass; we've played together for years and he's good. We'll get somewhere, and he'll just set up camp in the corner and practice quietly for ages- he doesn't show off, doesn't spout on about how music is his life, blahblahblah, he just does it, and gets better and better.
Anyway, his expensive Czech bass got stolen out of his car the other night- at his house, in his carport, and we all thought: end of story. You can file the police report, tour the pawn shops, but you'll never see it again.
Well, here's an excerpt from an email I got from Russ today: "I am really happy to say that my bass did turn up tonight from a teenager who said he 'found' it in the park. I didn't give the guy a hard time, I am just glad he brought it back."
God knows what really happened, but isn't that great?