Damnit.

I have a cold. It started yesterday with a tightness in my throat, then became an inability to clear said throat. Then it became a full-body exhaustion, which rendered me completely useless from two in the afternoon on. I cancelled plans with my little brother so that I could lay in bed and feel sorry for myself and possibly nap. I couldn't sleep, but that didn't keep me from just laying there all night.

Today, I woke up to find someone apparently replaced my esophagus with sandpaper. It feels great. I feel like that kid in the Chloraseptic commercial when I was a wee one: "It'll hurt if I swallow, it'll hurt if I swallow, it'll hurt if I...MOOOOMMMMYYYYY!!!!"

Having a cold has the following effect on my life:

• I stop going to the gym, because I'm always looking for a valid excuse to not go, for some reason. Even though I pay a monthly fee and want to be tight and toned, I'm ecstatic when I think of an actual reason (besides sheer laziness) to not go. The Cold Excuse is brilliant because it works on so many levels. One, the "I can't breathe right *cough cough* and I'm severely uncomfortable working out in this state" angle. Two, the "Coughing and sniffling make me run out of breath faster, so I can't keep up with the class" angle. And the third, but most undisputable, angle: "If I'm sick, and I go to the gym, I could get everyone else sick. And I don't want to do that. I'm really not going for you, my fellow gym patron." See? I'm so altruistic. So there's that.
• But while I'm not going to the gym, I'm busy eating everything in sight. It's easy to convince myself that it's okay to eat those dozen chicken wings, and that tub of Ben & Jerry's when I'm saying, "Feed a cold, starve a fever! I need calories to fight off this sickness! Calories, calories, CALORIES! Hey, are you going to finish that beef jerky? Can I have it? What about that chocolate bar? And, do you know what would be really great? SALSA!" And I can't get full. So I just keep going. And I don't feel guilty until the morning after, when I go to get in the shower and realize that my gut cannot be sucked in. Whoops. So then I vow to go to the gym. And then I realize I don't have to! I have a free pass! I have a cold!
• I can't write. Nothing good, anyway. I spent the better part of yesterday trying to get this intricate web of parallels between Billy and this show we watched into a coherent post, but to no avail. Instead, I wound up with a disjointed three pages of gibberish. My words were flat and boring, my thoughts just jumped around all over the place. There was no unity to the damn thing. Unless you were actually inside of my head and knew what I was going for, there was no way you'd understand it. So I just saved it and I'll go back to it later, when I don't feel like curling up under my desk for a nap.
• I cry. I cried last night because I cancelled plans with my brother. And then I cried while watching Patriot Act: A Jeffrey Ross Movie, because all of those comedians went Iraq to see the troops. And I love the troops.
• I'm irritable. I was grouchy because A) Billy put his cold hand on my bloated belly, B) he wouldn't let me get up to eat and C) he layed almost directly on top of me when we got to bed. Normally, I love all of these things, but my fuse was so short, and my desire to be touched so minimal, that I just sort of panicked and got away from him as quickly as I could. It's a good thing he loves me. A lesser person would get mad at me for it.
• I'm mushy. Because, even though I was irritated, it made me all soft and squishy to think about the fact that, even with puffy eyes, scratchy throat, runny nose and a generally bad attitude, Billy loves me enough to still touch me and take care of me.
• I also revert to childhood. I'm whiny and needy. Luckily, Billy's the same way when he's sick. So we understand each other.
• Where did this become a post about Billy?
• I need to sleep.

So, anyway, yeah. I have a cold. I want to post something worth reading, but I'm just not up to it. As soon as I start writing, my brain just veers off in another direction (see above). So I can't be trusted with a keyboard and blank post page. I just can't. There's no telling what I'll write about.

I'll write something when I can think clearly and stare at a screen without zoning out and coming to five minutes later, wondering what I was doing in the first place.