So I don't know about where you guys are, but it has been positively nauseating hereabouts, the way the weather bounces up and down like a caffeinated toddler on a carousel on fast-forward.
Yesterday it was 40. Today it's 14. (Those are Fahrenheit, by the way.)
This has done nothing good for my health. I've been beating back some kind of cold or bug or something for the last three months, always just barely staying at the bleeding edge of not too sick.
Well, folks, I am here to tell you that my fancy-footwork and clever dodges have come to an end. I write to you from the depths of an easy chair that is definitely breaking down on one corner, giving me a drunken list to the right. I have three blankets on top of me. I'm still cold. My skin feels like someone has rubbed it with sandpaper dipped in red pepper flakes, and then applied a thin layer of ice water. My joints are stiff, including the ones between my skull plates. The cough that keeps threatening to arrive is still lurking in the background, reminding me that, hey, things could always be worse, right? How about if things got worse?
The kid, from whom I acquired this affliction, is recovering, but is also still uncomfortable enough to provide relief in the form of screaming fits of rage and thrown items whenever...anything.
So. I'm going to abandon this whole blog post thing now and go veg-out-slash-hopefully-nap, because I would like to be well again ever.
Goddamn. Kudos to people with constant pain. This shit sucks.