I’m still feeble enough to justify working half days. I came home after lunch, tried to take a nap, but the cat will not get off me and I can’t sleep under him, got up and started reading the blogs, only got as far as Fabulon, realized I have my jammie pants on backwards. All this without drugs! I must be improving rapidly.
random, arbitrary naked guy, cause I feel like it.
I must be getting better because a) I appear to not be dead yet and b) I’m tired of lying around, but not yet well enough to try anything else. I went out to dinner last night and Friday with our guests and while it was most amusing, it also wore me out. I’m just so darn fragile. Everyone’s going out to brunch at Zuni Cafe this afternoon, but I’m staying home like a sensible Miss.
Saki has taken to demonstrating cat yoga for me in hopes that I will take it up, but I refuse.
So I’m going to pretend all the snarky potshots taken in the comments section of my last post were simply playful attempts at humor, expressions of loving concern in disguise. The latest mrpreenee sickroom news: I’m still sick. Being the overachiever I am, I shot through the flu and wound up in bronchitis, from which I write, wheezing and hacking. And just how very not well are we? I am too sick to watch porn, that’s how sick. Just kill me now.
We finished re-doing the guest room in the middle of my puniness and just in time for our friends Ehsan and Dennis to arrive. They were very flattering about the room, and have been most solicitous. I sent them off touring around with R Man this morning and we’ll be going out for Thai food at the charming Grand Poo Bah shortly. Imagine, actually leaving the house. Except for a brief, ill advised attempt to return to work yesterday, where I wound up lying on the floor of my cubicle thinking maybe this wasn’t such a great idea, I haven’t been outside for more than a week. Still. I’ve started a round of very expensive antibiotics, so I expect to better pronto.
Maybe the Thai food will help. If not, I’m sure houseboy Aloysius Tregiautomy will.
Maybe you’ve noticed every other blog includes pathetic whimpering posts about the cold or flu the writer is overwhelmed by. In my ceaseless effort to stay au courant, to remain ahead of the curve, to leave the Joneses in the dirt, I am now sick myself. Snotty and achy with a dry hacking cough that sounds like a student production where they decided to create a mashup of Camille and La Boheme. I am staying home from work today and, oh boy, this is also the day the new carpet is being installed. I’m sure it’s not really any louder than a small war being fought in our guest room and I’m dealing with all the dust stirred up by inhaling it so it doesn’t mess up the house. That’s just how I am, giving, giving, always giving. Do you think it’s possible to drown in your own snot?
I wish I had a houseboy who was talented in nursing, but when you pick them based on their pole dancing ability, like Wolfgang Cupertino here, I guess you can’t have everything.