The swine flu sucks ass.  I have to tell you, I’ve had more fun than this.  I’ve felt mildly shitty for the past couple of days, but yesterday morning I rallied a little.  So in typical Elly fashion I decided to push my luck and run nine hundred and seventeen errands at a breakneck pace.  By the time I finally made it home (and drug my seven loads of bags up the three flights of stairs to the apartment) I was plum tuckered out.

About an hour later, the fever started.  I made myself some hot tea with gobs of honey to try and slow the body-racking coughing.  Armed with my warm beverage and a slew of over the counter drugs, I settled in to hold the couch down for the next several hours.

Rocco arrived home after the show looking like he was rode hard and put up wet.  He too is afflicted with the pork plague it seems.  Bad news is, he likes to go to doctors.  Now that we’re both sick, I know I’m going to get roped in to a trip to the clinic.

I love doctors, Aloysius and my dad especially.  But I don’t like to go see them.  I don’t like their needles, or their hard shiny cold metallic things they seem to shove in every orifice of your body.  Blech.  Count me out.

So now I have to go hide somewhere in our five hundred square feet before Rocco’s NyQuil wears off and he drags me to get poked and prodded.  Too bad I already demo’d the closet…