Step-by-Step: Making Aliyah to Israel

Documenting the very personal process of making Aliyah (immigration to Israel) by one very atypical Israeli-American girl. Aliyah on 17, August, 2005. Roadmap: What do you mean there's no roadmap?! Hang on, we're in for a bumpy ride! Ole!

Sunday, February 05, 2006

Today I've spent a very profitable day (not) watching embassies burn, reading about a horrible stabbing attack by a terrorist on the passengers of a mini-taxi in Petach Tikva which caused the death of an elderly woman, doing a little bit of work email (very little), taking a nap, taking care of a cat, and feeling like crud. Yep, I'm sick. It is official. I tried to deny it all morning and tried to convince myself I was going to pry myself off the couch (depositing the kitty in her basket) and go to 1)deal with a ton of bank stuff 2)get my arnona --and more importantly water bill --straightened out 3)go get some form 17 from Maccabi to send to Ichilov to take care of the bill from when I broke my collarbone and about 10 other things before all of these lovely agencies closed their doors (like around noon). It didn't happen. When it was completely obvious that there was no way I could make it to even one of these places even if I flung the kitty into the basket and raced out the door-- I took a nap (with the kitty).

When I woke up from the nap I was still not convinced I was really getting sick. Just a bit under the weather, you know, and mostly just lazy. But I was tired (nap didn't help) and achey and my head felt on the verge of hurting. Then my face started to flush. This is always a sign of impending doom. I puttered around washing dishes, doing a load of laundry, feeding the cat --thus adding more clothes needing to be washed as she manages to get wet kitty food allllllllll over both me and her, then retreated back to the sofa under a blanket. When my teeth started to chatter and I was shivering enough to make the kitty on my lap wreowl it finally became mamash barur (really clear): sick. Sick, sick, sick. No denying it. Even the thermometer refuses to lie for me.

I'm totally convinced it is because I made chicken soup (for the sick kitty so she can have tempting unsalted and untouched by anything but chicken flavoured water) for the very first time in my life. Yeah, it was vegetarian adventure time. At least my cabinets and sink have been thoroughly de-everything'd as a result of the amount of bleach I used to clean any surface a chicken piecelet might have thought of touching and contaminating with salmonella or whatever it is that chicken stuff has. All I know is my mother is always screaming if chicken then bleach and more bleach.

My non-sick cats went crazy last night while the chicken was cooking. They raced around the house, leaped on the (just bleached) counters which they know they are not allowed to do, and were just beside themselves from the tempting cat-smells coming from the stove. Wish the sick one had been as enthused but they all got some (sick one with an eye-dropper). My cats are definitely not vegetarians.

I blame that darn chicken soup. When sick, you eat chicken soup. Therefore, when you have chicken soup in your house, you are (or get) sick. Elementary my dear Watson. But euewwww after seeing and touching that raw used to walk and squawk bird there ain't no way I'm eating it this time. Emmmaaaaa, bring me some chicken soup I can pretend came into being by some kind of magic (yours)!

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