I have a cold. So do not even bother to read any further unless you are prepared to feel reaaallly sorry for me and send tons of sympathy, hearts, and flowers my way. I mean, I want a big, collective, “aww, you poor thing.” A sincere one at that. I just had a lunch piled high with jalapeno peppers to try to loosen some of the concrete that has taken up residence in my head. It didn’t hurt one bit that they were piled atop a heap o’ cheese & chili. When I’m sick, I feed myself whatever the hell I want, no matter how many years it will take off my life in the long run. Isn’t it “feed a cold, starve a fever?” That’s the one I go by, but I’ve never really known what the hell the phrase really meant anyway. But I just follow whatever my body tells me to do — and this was it. Accompanied by an ice cold diet coke. Because I’m watching my weight, of course.
So I’m really bitchy and cranky and people keep needing me. The phone rings. Someone needs me. A co-worker buzzes. She needs me. Don’t these people understand I cannot sit at my desk and wallow in self-pity with all these interruptions? I need to get my sympathy here at work, because it sure ain’t happenin’ at home. Those people really, really need me. And they’ll take care of me and have sympathy for me, but only after I get dinner, help with homework, blah blah blah. Cough. Cough cough. Sigh. Repeat.

Ok. So all of you should stop whatever it is that you are doing and feel sorry for me. On three. 1-2-3. Thanks.

The jalapenos are starting to talk to me.

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