2008-07-07

Ass.

Ass.

That's what I feel like. A big plate of it, with some extra ass on the side.

Apparently there's something going around, and I caught it. Of course I did.

I started feeling vaguely ass-y on Saturday. Thinking that this was the result of chasing Kaleigh around the pool the prior afternoon, I chalked it up to being "older," popped a Tylenol, and didn't think much of it.

But I wasn't feeling much better on Sunday. In fact, by Sunday evening I was a weepy, aching mess and went to bed before 10. Barely made it through the "Gene Simmons Roast" on A&E.

I left work early today, to the immense relief of my coworkers, because A) I'm even whinier and more obnoxious when I'm sick, and B) I'm one of those people who don't always practice what I preach. It drives me NUTS when people come in hacking up their lungs and bringing their scabrous, noxious pestilence into the office, because they "just HAVE to get something done." And damned if I didn't do JUST THAT today. Color me hypocritical. It's the crayon on the far end of the box, next to the one marked "Highly Contagious."

Came home, passed out, had some soup, and I hope to stay awake long enough to get my weekly dose of schadenfreude in the form of a brand-spanking-new episode of "Intervention."

If I STILL feel like ass tomorrow, I'm not allowed to go to work. Nobody likes a martyr, particularly an infectious one.

lisamcc at 7:29 p.m.

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