I am still a flurry of crumpled Puffs Plus Lotion and ChapStick and Lycall and borrowed (XXL) sweaters and oversized slippers and heating pads and hand sanitizer and decontaminating/washing All The Things.
Gawdamn. I hate the tail end of colds. You know, the kind of Just Sorta Sick that hangs around after Officially Sick exits stage left? Just Sorta Sick makes you sneeze for no apparent reason. Cough unexpectedly while trying to have a phone conversation. Hovers around the top of your head, threatening headache but then dumps a metric shit-ton of snot into just your left sinus. Then walks away.
Just Sorta Sick is an asshole.
It has been a week. A week. And I’m still not 100%.
Smoke has officially forgiven me for the trip to the vet the other day. My bank account, on the other hand, is all kinds of pissed off. It wasn’t terribly expensive. In fact, I was expecting much worse. I just wasn’t prepared to deal with an additional expense right now. Which begs improvement of my financial planning skills, such as they are.
I need a job. Or a hobby that makes money.
Playlist: Classical Chill station on iTunes