Yes, in the glamourous life of airline travel, where you’re trapped in a metal tube full of other people’s germs and old guys stop to hack up a lung just over your aisle seat, you know that getting on a plane means a good chance of catching something.
Granted, Josh caught something as well, so it’s possible the germs came from him. But I like Josh, so I’d rather attribute it to old hacking guy pausing at my seat to hork up a lung.
Thanks old guy!
So here I am, ready to take on life, a million and one ideas going through my head after the last three weeks and a clean house (thanks to my super awesome sister who held down the fort, shook it up, and put it all back into place neatly) – and I have some sort of upper respiratory plague.
Sure, it’s better than other plagues. But my face hurts a little. My throat hurts a lot. I sound like Marlene Dietrich. I could probably finally sing Adele’s “Hello” in the right key, all throaty and sexy like. Or Barry White’s “Let’s Get It On”. Whichever. But I didn’t sleep well, and I’m a bit dragging, and no one’s here to clean my kitchen but me dammit. Thankfully, I actually planned ahead so Maura’s birthday will go on tomorrow without a hitch!
I just don’t like feeling like this. Brain is on enough to want to do things, body is off enough to not want to do anything.
My slide back into real life is going to cause some carpet burn.