It is official.
I am sick.
The most glaring sign was this morning’s call to my doc.
I love my doc. He tells me about his golf games. I catch him up on my sex life.
It is medicine that I despise. I avoid it at all costs. And my doc knows this, so he knows if he sees me sitting across from him in that lovely white office filled with desk gadgets, it is quite serious. I have even been known to have my phone calls skip straight through other hacking trembling patients.
See, I see it as if tequila or some other hard tac cannot kill it, then one must be on death’s door & you may as well give up. But now, in recognition of the fact that I am not drinking tequila at present, the little buggers of germs have been allowed to set up entire fortresses in lowly me. And now they need to be wiped out. Or at least I’d like a little more comfort while lolling about on my couch.
My boss is passing jokes every two minutes about my state. Honestly. Working for hard-ass ex-doctors allows one no sympathy.
All this rambling is to get the point across that yet again this week I will not be forming any decent post. Let’s hope an entire weekend of being flat on my back will help. If not, maybe suiping through a straw on those 10 bottle of champagne that have wandered their way into my room since my birthday will cure all.
Have a good weekend for me!