Who's worse? Me or Spidey?

I went to see Spider-Man 3 this afternoon even though I have felt crappy for about a week. Actually, maybe I went because I felt crappy.

I have an idea that the crapppiness is mostly in my mind. I am sure that is what my doctor will tell me in a few weeks when I see her for my annual physical, which is actually every two years now because my insurance company decided annual is not medically necessary.

My parents and sister are out of town, meaning if I need some physical assistance I would have to ask a friend, stranger or the police. And even the police, as nice as they are, are unlikely to pick me up from work with leftovers for dinner.

I am able to survive on my own, but it is the little things that get me. For instance, I have two handsets for my phone, but I can't find one. I can hear it but not find it. Or the rugs in my bathroom are messed up, but it is as hard to rearrange them as to just deal with them.

So I went to the movies to forget I am feeling crappy. It worked even though the movie cost $7 for a Sunday matinee.

What's worse is the movie seems to have been made by Crappy Crapperson of Crapville. It was so disappointing. There were deuses ex machina behind every door. I kept expecting Aunt May to spring out of her human skin and show herself as Golden Oldie, herald of Galactus. And Spidey was a wimp.

My folks come back tomorrow, so I am likely to make it. Maybe I will even feel better.