We had a pretty decent run of health toward the end of last year, which must be why I’ve spent most of the past month sick with three different colds, or allergy attacks, or whatever poison it is that’s crawled up my sinuses and laid its devil eggs.
Sick before Christmas. Sick after Christmas. Sick before the Golden Globes. If I’m burning off all my illness in one week, I can deal; if this is a nasty chain that takes me through Fashion Week to the Oscars, I might go insane. My nose is red. My nightstand looks like an F in origami class. I can’t sleep. And I have one of those really sore zits brewing on my cheek, although that has nothing to do with my disease. Unless it’s a mini-buboe, and this is the plague. You never know. But I’m sick of that stuffy, wet-eyed inability to do anything. This is where people go broke shopping online, I think. I don’t have the energy to do actual thinking, but if I’m on my computer I feel like I’m accomplishing something, and what could be better than ordering a bunch of shit I don’t need that won’t fit?
So I need to close the laptop, is what I’m saying. Maybe a crappy movie is on to distract me. Pray for Crossroads.