My throat tickle has exploded into a Truck Stop Waitress Voice Plague. I've been in bed since 11 am yesterday and though I feel better tonight than I did last night, I still feel awful.
I really need to get back to work (as I have been illicitly checking my work email) and I am convinced that they are not going to survive without me.
(Although the most shocking thing in my in-box was an invitation to a party to be held by Gargoyle Toes. MEEP! I feel very bad about not wanting to go, on account of how I, you know, despise her-- and I am very afraid that there will be no one at her party except her dying cat and her alleged spouse. I can just picture them in three sad little party hats, all alone. That would be awful; so, dear readers, should I:
1.Go to the damn party.
2.Convince another sucker to go to the damn party with me.
3.Make up an excuse.
Anyway, I'm flemmy and coughy and would like to be magically better over night so as not to miss out on all of the awesome Superbowl and ground hog's day festivities I have planned this weekend.
Today I was ravenously hungry all day, which I figure must be a good sign. Surely consumption of bacon will at least partially heal me so that I can at least attempt to haul my disgusting carcass into work tomorrow.