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I'm incapable of thought today. Which is amusing, since I'm getting quite a bit of work done.
High: The box came!
Low: I feel like cold diarrhea on a paper plate.
Feeling better.
Ally McBeal kicking "Victor" in the ass.
*croak*
Same as yesterday.
Storyteller
Bio
Dramatis Personnae
Who I Read
Recipes
March 5, 2002
peanut butter toast and mulled cider
I have never been this cold in my whole life. No, not even when I had to stand out in February weather in Maine and wait for the schoolbus. I've got on sweatpants, sweatsocks, a t-shirt, *and* my robe. I'm in bed, covered with the sheet, blanket, *and* comforter. I'm wishing for ear muffs, a nose warmer, *and* fuzzy mittens.
Damn, I'm cold.
And my temperature's 101.
Yep. I caught it. Didn't I say I'd catch it? Well, I did. Right smack dab in the middle of the week that I absolutely cannot be sick in. Projects. Meetings. Presentations.
Sneezing. Barfing. Croaking.
My throat feels like it's bleeding. And every time I swallow my ears do this weird popping thing.
"I'm dying."
"You're not dying. You just can't think of anything better to do."
Spot the reference.
I went to work this morning. I sent out a few e-mails, talked to a few people, then gathered up a bunch of work materials and took my ass back home. I'm now ensconced in bed with my laptop. My unruly stomach has been somewhat appeased by peanut butter toast and a mug of warm mulled cider. Calvin taped Ally McBeal for me last night while I was in school (love me some Jon Bon Jovi), and it's playing in the background.
Thus far I've completed a 20 page presentation, a program test script, and minutes and agendas for two meetings.
And a nap. And a session hunched over the toilet.
Sorry. Too much information?
I'm on Calvin's side of the bed, since it's closer to the wall outlet that my laptop's plugged into. And so I'm using his feather pillow to prop myself up with. I think I may steal it for good. It's full of soft comforting goodness.
God, I feel awful. Okay. Y'all will have to be appeased with this halfhearted entry. My fingers are too cold to type.
Where the hell did I put my ski gloves, anyway?
Oh. And see today's "Low" over there? I stole that from my sister. She used to say of people she didn't like: "She thinks she's hot shit on a silver platter, but she's just cold diarrhea on a paper plate."
Gotta love my sister.