Wimpy, puny sick pup I'm no good at being sick. I have a scratchy throat and stuffy head, and I feel like crud -- not cruddy enough to call in sick, but cruddy enough. The generic version of Sudafed I'm on is kicking in, but still, I'd rather either be a.) fully healthy (my first preference) or b.) sick enough to stay home.
I'm such a wimp when it comes to colds. My wife tells me to "suck it up," but I'd rather sit around sipping green tea and sniffling, huddled under blankets and channel-surfing through worthless daytime TV programming.
I have only myself to blame for this. Monday, the day after Christmas, was such a beautiful day, so I decided to wash the filth off my car. Then, I decided to take a run. Tuesday morning, I woke up with a scratchy throat.
I was off that day anyway, so no biggie -- just surf the Net, work on a blog redesign, etc. But Tuesday night, it hit me harder. That nasty sinus drainage down the throat that keeps you coughing this nagging cough all night and deprives you of sleep -- and, what's worse, deprives the unsympathetic spouse of sleep.
But I soldier on and go to work Wednesday morning. By 11 a.m., I'm dying. I leave the office at noon and spend the afternoon on the sofa. The only halfway-decent programming on is Honeymoon in Vegas, which I watch for awhile, until I decide I really should try to get some sleep. I catch a 45-minute nap, feel perky for about 15 minutes, then soothe my aching throat with more hot green tea.
Well. Enough wimpering. This is not a whinerblog, and I'm not about to turn it into one. I just thought you should know about my condition, just in case the posts are not to par.
Don't you hate these self-absorbed bloggers who whine about every little thing wrong with them? Suck it up, Andrew.