I’m one sick fuck

This time I mean it in the “there’s stuff coming out of my lungs when I cough” way. On Sunday I got a sore throat around 2pm. By 8 that night I was woozy and had trouble walking in a straight line. The rest of this week has been spent in bed, on the couch, or wishing I was in one of those two places. Kat’s been doing her best to tend to me, pouring liquid down my throat and making soup and grabbing meds as new symptoms manifest. She’s a sweetie. She’s also probably the person who gave it to me, because I was that nursemaid to her the week prior.

I hate being sick, but I hate getting sick even more. I always feel like it’s my fault. I exposed myself to something and wasn’t smart enough to take vitamins or wash my hands or something. Chumpy. I rarely have to take time off from work for illness, but I was home four of five days this week, and the one day I wasn’t home…I was on a plane for a developer visit and a feature. Got another one of those next week, so here’s hoping I stop hacking up ectoplasmic residue by then.

I will be polite and not post photographic proof.

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