Sick = Bullshit

It started off right after lunch yesterday. I figured it was a reaction to the jerk chicken sauce causing me to cough and feel a touch asthmatic, even though the sauce wasn't that spicy.

The cough stayed with me. I did some shopping, and on my way home got hit with a headached and dizzy spells. Great. As I got home, it increased to a fever. Fantastic. As much as I just wanted to curl up in bed, I had things that needed to be done. So I did them. I eventually called it an early night, turned off the A/C, and proceeded to sweat through the night - on purpose. At some point, I started dreaming.

I knew how to cure myself. I merely needed to craft the ultimate cast iron griddle. As I wandered around a dirt parking lot, near a grassy knoll, I gathered the required materials. I spent hours crafting the griddle, in the heat. At 4:45am, I woke up, the griddle was complete. Strangely, it was this time the fever broke too. Not quite enough though, as I spent the next 3 hours drifting in and out of consciousness, protecting the griddle from those who wished to use it for themselves. Nay! I needed it for my own restoration of health!

Around quarter-to-eight, I realized the entire thing was ridiculous and that I hated fever dreams.

Head's still throbbing and cloudy. Cough is still present. Fever's gone. Everything aches. Yet here I sit at work. I'm such a fucking trooper.

Dinner and drinks tonight for my best friend's birthday. A full day planned tomorrow for the same friend's birthday. Poker and more poker Sunday. This fucking virus has been put on notice - get the fuck out. That, or I'll kill it with whiskey.