I think that my favorite thing about this house is that it has a conservatory.

Ditto.

It's Mr. Boddy who was murdered, or has Colonel Mustard become a serial killer.

I wondered what was being conserved.

It's Mr. Boddy who was murdered, or has Colonel Mustard become a serial killer.

I wanna know - is Colonel Mustard related to Mean Mr. Mustard?

All sympathies, Shir. Also, apologies for taking so long, but I wasn't around yesterday.

Yay for smonster's doggie!

Actually, yesterday I took Max to the specialist for an ultrasound. He charmed everyone (as is his habit). The specialist found no mass except a prominent lymph node (which is pretty common with infections), but every lobe of both lungs is badly congested. As in, something has been going on with his respiratory system for a long time. Probably pneumonia, possibly asthma, less possibly some other kind of infection (or virus or bacteria), and cancer isn't completely out of the question. (Dr. Specialist listed all of those possibilities. She isn't one to minimize concerns.)

For now, we're treating for pneumonia/infection. Continuing antibiotics, steam treatments (which means when we shower, Max is in the room and the door is closed). We're able to coax him into eating some dry food, which is odd because he's always preferred moist. And he seems to be perking up a little bit.

I just emailed my advisor to cancel our meeting today. I know that he'll hold it against me, but right now, I can barely walk, even with crutches.

It's Mr. Boddy who was murdered, or has Colonel Mustard become a serial killer.

Colonel Mustard is a bastard, always with the killin'.

Conservatory, n. Perfectly sensible British word for an addition to a house that every good middle-class English family (and also the occasional Irish-Israeli gay couple) wants to have just off their kitchen.

Snow. There is snow on the ground outside the office. Sigh.

Seska, I missed the house pics. What? Where?

Also, what I really wanted to post before and couldn't coz I was in public space, but: GRRRRR!

In more human speech, meh, it's really all about timing, is it?

I was sitting with my French study meeting, conjugating verbs in 6 tenses like nobody's business, when a student entered the room. A cute student. He asked if we can fill a questionnaire for his doctorate research. I was the only one who could answer it (native tongue had to be Hebrew. Which reminds me, next time I'm having a foreign language study meeting? To make sure I'm not the only one who thinks in Hebrew, so they'll be able to understand me faster. Jesus. You really do think different when you use another language). And when I saw the form, and he asked me if the questions seemed familiar in any way (because if so, I can't answer it), and I saw they were based on Kahneman & Tversky research. So I couldn't help him with answering his questionnaire, but... we kindda continued talking. Because his eyes, dammit, his eyes... I could have drowned in his eyes. I should have drowned in his eyes. And when it starched to over 5 minute of flirting/talking, I felt it's too much (because it was, after all, a study group. It wasn't very ethical of me to start flirting above their heads as is), I kind of ended the conversation there (well, it lasted another minute or two, because every time something new came up).

I should have said "screw it" and go after him. Continue the flirt. I tried searching for him later, but no good came out of it.

So, GRRRRRR. Cute guy, similar interests (in the broad sense of the word. He is, after all, a doctoral student of psychology - sociology's arch-nemesis), amazing eyes, falls on me from heaven, and I ended the conversation due to courtesy. *headdesk*

ION: my first field work, first meeting, was set to 29.4. And my informant just suggest "hey, I think you should come here for 2-3 days, if you'd like". Am I having the world's most laid-back guy as an informant, or what?