Ancodia, the Barr's Baby

I'm still disease-ridden. My strep is gone-ish, but I have the Headcold From Hell, with a cough that Shall Not Die. It feels like my lungs were wallpapered, and someone's ripped all the wallpaper off.

Yeah, these parallels actually do just pop into my mind.

Yeah, I feel sorry for me, too. It's confuzzling in here ::knocks head::.

So I'm swilling cough syrup straight from the bottle as if there were no tomorrow. And I'm listening to DJ Screw for ambience.

Ok, ok...so I'm drinking Robitussin and listening to Drudge.

Yeah, yeah--I'm *so* unhip, it's a wonder my bum doesn't fall off. All the cool kids gots da purple stuff, and I'm stuck with this NASTY ASS tasting stuff that barely works. But I'd have to get a prescription for *real* cough syrup. Errr...lean. I forgot I'm turning this misery into meta-coolness. Yeah. But both of those would involve extra effort to get to the doctor. And then I'd have to make it. Neither of which I'm up to doing. ::cough, cough::. I'd make a pathetic junkie. No, really. It's why my doctor loves me. :-) But come Tuesday or Wednesday, if I still can't inhale without coughing up a lung, then I'll go back to see him. That has to be one of the worst ways to be awakened that I can think of.

Work was hell; when I left today, I gassed my office with Lysol and closed the door; I probably used three-quarters of the can. No, seriously. And Saturday I had to make a lunchtime run up to the drug store to get more cough suppressant; the clerk did the "how're you today?" thing, and all I could do was smile, or else I'd go into a coughing fit.

And I'm wheezing when I breathe. And I feel like Mike Tyson's been doing punch drills on my chest.

Romeo is just standing--he won't come near me--looking at me as if to say, "Geez; I hope you don't die."

Yeah; me too, Rome. Stand clear.

::cough, cough::