So, I’m sick.
I hate being sick. I always have this fantasy that it will be endless hours of watching movies and eating chocolate, when really it’s just sleeping tons and feeling too lousy to enjoy anything.
You can tell I’m truly sick because when my parents suggested we go out to lunch today, I didn’t grab my coat and purse and run for the door. You see, I love going to lunch. It doesn’t matter where we’re going. We could be going to McDonald’s. I’ll still get excited about it. Going to lunch is pretty much my favorite thing in the whole wide world to do. So if you suggest going out to lunch and I’m not excited, you know I’m really sick.
I’m particularly annoyed about being sick right now for two reasons. One, I’m having a birthday in a few days and the idea of being sick on my birthday is just cruel. And two, I had things that I wanted to do this weekend! I wanted to finish the first draft of the flash fiction piece I started writing Thursday night. And I wanted to play Pandemic, and I wanted to read my book. And I wanted to go the The Loft and use my birthday coupon to get myself a new shirt. And now I’m under the influence of cough syrup and don’t have enough functioning brain cells to write fiction or play Pandemic, and I’m too achy to shop. I can still read, but the cough syrup makes me sleepy, so I tend to lose track of the plot. (Admittedly, the plot of this book isn’t terribly complicated, but still.)
I also think the cough syrup makes me depressed. I watched Doctor Who (Girl in the Fireplace) last night and almost cried at the end. Then again, I suppose that doesn’t necessarily prove anything.
I’m going to wrap this up, since I am going to venture out to lunch after all. Hopefully I won’t cough up a lung along the way. That tends to spoil the appetite.
Happy weekend, folks. Over and out.
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