started to feel achey fluey on the way home from work, so i decided to turn in early.
tossed and turned till about midnight. i was too hot, so i flip over the pillow. that side of the pillow’s too cold so now i’m chilly. the window’s drafty. i couldn’t sleep.
i wake up, and my throat is on fire. swollen. rough. can’t swallow. i have a headache. i’m congested. i hate it. and i’m out of drugs.
i stumble into the lounge, and .darian, .greg and wes all start sighing and awwwing me. i tell them my symptoms, hoping one of them might have some night nurse [yanks: weak british version of nyquil] or something.
.darian gives me a course of antibiotics. wes gives me some superstrength cold medicine. and a variety of sleeping pills.
i slept like a rock, but awoke this morning feeling nasty, miss jackson. popped a few dayquil [brits: super-strong american version of lemsip, with speed] and survived most of the work day. on my way home, though, my symptoms returned.
i was a good boy this weekend, dammit! i didn’t stay out late [well, except for friday], i didn’t share fluids with strangers [well, i mean, i knew who they were at least], and i took pretty good care of myself.
it’s not fair, i’ve got too many things cooking right now to be out of commission. wait a second… come somebody say worn down?