I’m sick. It’s one of those colds that’s wiped me out so badly that I can’t conceive of knitting anything but stockinette in the round and no matter how much I’d like to watch DS9, crossing the room to get to my DVDs is just too much work. It’s also one of those colds that gives you pause to contemplate the human body, its various fluids, and how gross we really are. Objectively speaking. I’m talking earthworm-gross.
I’m sick, so that’s me on the couch with kleenex and a stack of comic books. All things being equal I’d rather be well and at work, but some quiet time in the house doesn’t suck either. And being sick, I feel justified in ignoring all the household messes that I might otherwise have felt guilty about not cleaning. Now I can curl up with a cup of tea and watch Ripley massacre a nest of Aliens with a blow torch in peace.
I’m sick. Grumble grumble. It amazes me that some tiny little creature could cause so much havoc in my body. It’s quite rude, really; tiny or no, it received no invitation from me. Even vampires have to be invited into your home before they can walk through the door. Is one parasite really so unlike another? Where is your decorum, little bug?
