Some asshat gave me a cold. So, here I sit, at work, coughing and sneezing and in a state of general disarray. As you know, when one has a cold, all one wants to do is tell everyone they come in contact with "I have a cold" [insert pout]. Not so much "scream it from the mountain tops" but more so "whine it out from under the blankets". Or maybe that's just me.
The good news is that not only do I have remnants of mom's chicken soup in the freezer from the previous solstice's cold, but I'm also like your own personal groundhog; as this cold unofficially marks the end of winter. Not just the calender end either (as you might have suspected that all on your own what with the pages of 2007 flipping by and all) but the actual end of miserably cold, windy, ice infused days. Here we are on the official cusp of spring, I'm surrounded by wads of tissues, vitamin C cough drop wrappers, and coworkers dressed in pastels, yet all I can think about is hoarding sick days for summer getaways. Using a sick day in March for something as silly as a cold seems ridiculous, does it not? When I could be using it midweek in July for a spontaneous Atlantic City (or Paris!) jaunt.
Clearly these cold meds are hallucinogens.