In case you didn't know, Erdogan is actually Recep Tayyip Erdogan, the prime minister of Turkey.
I'm supposed to be writing a 15 page paper on Turkey: "Analyze the prospects for the country's currency. Consider the country's economic condition and prospects." Dude, I got this in 20 words or less: It's an emerging market that didn't really appreciate the recent economic slump, but it's getting there. Done.
My roommates Sydney and Lillian brought home a cat several weeks ago. It was us or the animal shelter, so I embraced an indoor animal, despite having several bad experiences with them. It's not working out so well. His name is Zoloft--"because he's so chill he's almost depressed," they cried!--and yet every morning while I make myself a cup of Typhoo, he repeatedly attacks my legs. He doesn't understand that I am not a play toy, especially not at 6 am. He also doesn't understand that computers are for people to use, not for him to stretch out upon. I can't count how many times I've had to retype things today alone because of his iron will telling him that my keyboard is his favorite napping site. I will confess, however, that I do revel in vacuuming as it scares the hell out of him.
Now, now, let's be fair: I am not cruel to animals. I do not antagonize them, I do not hate them. In fact, I really like animals. [Especially baby pandas. Oh!, if only I could have a baby panda...] However, Zoloft likes to wait and attack me as I walk around hallway corners. He nests in my clean laundry. He jumps on the counters and goes for my food. He lies in wait outside my bedroom door, so that when I open it, I have to recall my days as a Cirque de Soliel performer to not trip myself as I maneuver around his flailing body. That said, he hates the vacuum. So much as that we could not find him after vacuuming the house two days ago. His cute little collar with his bell was abandoned on the floor by the bathroom, yet all doors were closed. He wasn't behind the cabinets or the TV, not in the washing machine (another favorite hiding spot) or under the furniture... We stood around bewildered only to hear the tiniest of "meows." Syd pointed to the wall behind me. He had wedged himself behind our collection of alcoholic beverages, his head just barely peeking out. I grabbed my camera and snapped a blurry picture or two before prying him--his claws were literally sunken into the drywall--down to ground level. It's bad, but it made me mentally give myself a point on the "Zoloft vs Rachael" scoreboard.
In other news, Tech's Health Services has determined after much testing that I may or may not have Strep. Thanks. That's good to know. So I got sent home from work early on Wednesday, spent all yesterday in bed, and was asked to not come in to work today. Which was fine...as long as I was sleeping. Other than that, I'm bored out of my mind and aching for some company. I can't stare at these beige walls anymore. I've eaten almost a whole box of cereal and had 4 cups of Typhoo and 2 cups of vanilla chai. I'm wired, and I'm going crazy. And I wanna curl up with Ryan.
SIGH.
But his not being here is probably a good thing, too. It means I have no excuse not to elaborate on my assessment of Turkey.
Not that it needs it, of course.
