Fate really IS cruel.

Hey.

So, last week I started sneezing like it was going out of style, and maybe it was; I don’t keep my finger on these trends that all the cool kids are into. Anyway, I did what I was susposed to: I took the ColdFX(tm), I ate the citrus fruit and the raw honey…and I was kind of starting to feel better, until the chest congestion hunted me down and attempted to convince me there were three Australian convicts sitting on my chest. From the inside.

Bleck. I hate chest colds.

So, last night, when I started actually feeling out of breath sitting on the couch, I broke out the mustard plaster and the raw garlic and the lime juice with raw honey…in other words, I broke out the big guns. I’d chanced to see the crud I was coughing up out of my lungs and I’m *fairly* sure that kind of stuff isn’t supposed to be that colour. In a healthy individual. Who coughs stuff up out of their lungs?

Anyway, that’s just the part you’re supposed to pity me about. This next bit is the part you’re supposed to say: “Dear God, thank Christ it’s you with this sick and not me”.

So today, I’m sleeping on the couch. I’m staying home from work so Dangerous Dan and the amazing B don’t get what I’m dealing. I’m sleeping on the couch, and I’m dreaming. Now, when I have a fever, I get some awesome fever dreams. But I don’t actually have much of a fever at the moment, so there is ABSOLUTELY NO REASON I ought to have had dreams like this.

I dreamed I’d gone to the health food store and was relaxing in a hammock behind a desk or counter, except it wasn’t a hammock, it was a cot. And it wasn’t a desk or counter, it was a carport. A very, very small carport.

And I gave hand-jobs to WWII vets who looked like Ed Asner.

Don’t. Even. Ask.