Germed.

Mother of goddess, I feel like I’m getting sick again. I do not have the time, or the mutherfucking patience, for that.

As a result of my last bout of plague, I am already a bit behind in things – several things, in fact – that I was hoping to accomplish sooner, rather than later, and if I’m sick and feeling sorry for myself (they go hand-in-hand, naturally) it’s totally not going to happen.

Next week is March Break and I had intended to get myself 100% caught up on every bit of paperwork that I have outstanding for work. I’m going to be working at home for parts, in the office for parts, doing evening outreach for parts – and I really, really want to power through my to-do list.

The only good thing, maybe, is that I have a student starting with me in a few weeks – so if I’m not fully caught up, I can introduce him to what he can expect when he graduates. I bet the school is going to regret letting me have a student.

I’ve got a weird cough, vertigo, and nausea (as a result, presumably, of the vertigo) and I can’t seem to regulate my temperature. I am also feeling really melodramatic about all of it and, if I were the sort of person who liked to inappropriately use the word ‘depressed’ for things like this, I’d say I was sitting on the edge of that too.

I just want to lie down and wave my hand around, limply, and tell you all to just go on without me because oh, god, I am clearly 400 years old (back pain!) and have the immune system of a boy in a bubble, without the bubble. My mood has tanked and I am just sad and forlorn and feeling very, very sorry for myself.

(Things like this are why no one ever wishes they were Coffee.)