Sometimes your spouse shares things with you that you never wanted in the first place. Like germs. I’ve been spewing out sneezes for days sorta wishing I was deadified. When Cold From Hell decided to gang up on me with my stomach problems? Yeah, man. I was about as happy as a cat that’s been dyed pink.
((Sorry, you shouldn’t dye animals pink? Really you shouldn’t? But I really really want a pink cat now. Call me terrible, I know.))
Monday sees light dawn, though, and I think I can see the end of my days as a festering pit for mucus and other unsightly bodily materials. Stomach’s taken a turn for the better today, too. This means I get to attempt to be productive later. It’s sorta funny. I resented being sick less because I felt crappy, and more because I got absolutely nothing accomplished. My house is a dump, my writing was ignored, and I’m behind in every way possible. I hate that feeling of having to dig myself out.
Oh well, I suppose. Time to just get a U-Haul and kick my ass in gear. First task, pinning a cat down and grabbing some Kool Aid.
Heeeere, Kitty Kitty.