It's true. Don't laugh.
But I'm not sweet this week. I'm sick. So sick in fact that I have stayed home the last two days from work. I can't recall the last time I took two days off in a row that wasn't for a planned vacation, and I admit that being sick is such a waste of time off that seriously grinds my gears. Nonetheless, I'm home. Because I walked into the office morning whereupon my boss saw that I was the walking, coughing reincarnation of The Black Death and she promptly sent me right back home.
I'm not complaining, mind you. I looked like Death and I felt (feel) like Death. I probably sounded like that opening scene of Outbreak when some sap is hacking away and you're wondering why everyone isn't running for their lives because pretty soon they're ALL GOING TO DIE.
I really did everyone a favor by going home. I'm sparing the world an outbreak of The Plague. Or maybe TB. I've heard it's making a resurgence. And this cough is so bad, I do feel like Doc Holliday minus the jaunty mustache and deathly sex appeal. So at least there's that.
But if I have to die of Tuberculosis alone at home, at least I have two cats that are trying to heal me with their purrs. If it works, I'll market them to the naturopaths of the world.
Though, with as fat as Hobbes is, I'm not sure if the weight of him on my hacking chest is really helping.
I do find it interesting that I've been wanting to blog for weeks now and even have a nice list of blog ideas, but have been entirely too busy to do so, and once I have time, it's because I'm sick so all I can talk about is phlegm and snot.
4 hours until my boyfriend gets home. Must hang on until then. At least I have Netflix to sustain me, as I left my current book on my desk at work. Again with the previously mentioned life ruling.
And oh yeah. It's Christmas next week and I still haven't posted photos from Thanksgiving. I rule at life.
If I live to Christmas. I've heard you can live quite some time with Tuberculosis. Send Robitussin.