Take pity on a miserable soul.

Here am I, laying....writhing in an ached fever...steady in my determination that I will beat this fucking cold without the help of modern medicine (well, other than NyQuil that is...but that was invented in 1968 so it's older than me and that makes it ok) but with sheer will and arrogance. Confident that my healthy habits and better-than-most judgement will persevere.

I think I should be ok.

The reason I am so resolute, is that I KNOW that I am not off again until Wednesday. And that is the first opportunity I have to go see Dr. Shapiro (the best doctor in the whole wide world in my honest opinion...65-70 years old...doesn't take appointments, gives you an exam in record time because the woman can diagnose you just on smell and her x-rayesque aging vision..she is amazing and has never given me the wrong meds or the runaround) so I am rather stuck to my own means.

I will conquer.

I will destroy this infection.

Argh, I think I might ignite I am so hot and feverish.

Just took my temp, down one degree from earlier. 101.4...YIPPEE, a small success...AND I went to work for 5 hours.

I am an idiot.
A real, in the flesh, idiot.

I hope someone can cover me so I can stay at home and rest tomorrow.
Fuck.
This is why I eat healthy and exercise and monitor my bad habits...so I DON'T get sick.

I have been sick more this year than ever...at least, in my adult life.

Stress must be wearing down my system.

Off to bed.
Double dose of NyQuil under my belt.
39 years of availablity to the mass market can't be wrong.

'Night.