Up at the Crack of 3:30

That's 3:30 PM, mind you, not AM.

So, apparently this is the recipe for health disaster: take one week around a bazillion people, add liberal amounts of pizookie and other treats, subtract sufficient sleep, and sprinkle on a few people with a "cough".

Since Duck Beach, I've been sick, sick, sick. Haven't been to work, haven't been out of the apartment much, and have been sleeping for most of the day. Fortunately, I've had great friends come by and bring me food to supplement my meager cereal, oatmeal, and fruits diet.

The PRN I saw at Minute Clinic (Wonderful service, by the way. I highly recommend it.) said that it's the flu --not swine flu -- and prescribed some meds, more liquids, and more sleep. If it'll help me get well sooner, I'm all for it. Ok, I'm tired, so I'm just going to go ahead and wish myself this, "Get well soon!"

Note: I wrote this a while ago, but I couldn't post it immediately, because I didn't want my mom to get concerned if she read it. It's kind of like in the mission, when you can't tell your parents that you got chased by an angry drunk with a broken bottle, or your face got burned by boiling tortilla mix, or you hurt your ankle, or anything like that, because you don't want to make them worry.