A bad chest cold this time.
I have no energy for new blog stuff. I have no desire to hide my frustration with the fact that I am sick. AGAIN.
I am pouting because while many a friend barbequed and beached it up yesterday, I took a massive dose of Mucinex and PM medicine and watched an all day marathon of Tori and Dean.
Today I feel worse. I'm feeling all sorts of sorry for my sick self and don't really give a flying kite how ridiculous I sound. My friends are off doing normal healthy people stuff like obsessing over paint colors, getting pedicures, and seeing boyfriends. The guy who owns the bodega on the corner practically hands me the Gatorade as I walk in the door.
It. Is. June. I'm supposed to feel light and summery. I'm supposed to rejoice in wearing skirts. I'm supposed to get up the nerve to hit on the cute guy who ran the 401k seminar at work today instead of muffling my cough every three seconds and wishing I would have given a crap enough to put on make up this morning. OK, maybe I wouldn't have hit on him anyway but he WAS cute. And he was young. And he had no ring on his finger. Yes, I leaned over ever-so-far to the right to check it out when he was explaining the difference between Roth and Traditional.
Soon the phelm will vacate my chest (gross image, I know. I'm sorry.) and I will remember what it is like not to feel like a mess.