And the head cold speaketh…

So, my trip home required four airports, three planes, and about a zillion human contacts. At one point, I was so hungry I almost got lost in O’Hare, and I vaguely remember begging a Starbucks clerk to give me a sandwich unheated, because if I didn’t eat A THING I would be doomed to wandering O’Hare forever, unable to keep my gate number in my pretty little head.

You don’t really get to do that without repercussions.

Welcome to me with a head cold. With any luck, it WON’T turn into Skipper’s plague from Winter Ball.  Because that was from RT, and it wasn’t any fun either.

So, short snippets of sick Amy– enjoy:

The following conversation happened in my congested head this morning:


You are NOT dying– you just can’t face the editing you have to do.

I am too dying. I feel like crap. I’m shivering like a wet Chihuahua. I know–I just walked my dogs and they’re both doing this same thing I am.

Okay, so you’re DYING–but you’re also stupid and everybody knows stupid people feel no pain. Shut your yapping and GET TO WORK!

*headdesk*  I’ve edited, my computer has crashed, and now I need to work some more.

Yeah, fine. Fuck this. Go to bed.

Thank you. *diez*

*  *  *

The following conversation happened between me and a real live sales clerk. For reference sake, my cart contained: sparkling water, six cartons of Safeway soup, cookies, crackers, and Kleenex.

Clerk: Hey,  how you doing?

Me: Great!

Clerk: *a little frightened*  You don’t sound great. You sound awful.

Me: Well, you know. I’ll be better after I get home.

Clerk: Are these Kleenex for you?

Me: Yeah.  *sniffles* *wipes hand across nose and feels disgusting*

Clerk: Would you like me to get you a box while you wait to ring stuff up?

Me: That would be kind. Really kind. Thank you.

Clerk: Feel better, hon.

(FTR? Clerk was about 20 years old. And he called me “hon”. *criez*)

*  *  *

I am getting out of the shower.

Mate: You sound better!

Me: Yep! Yay!

Mate: It got worse by the second word.

Me: Yeah– shower didn’t take.

*  *  *

Mate: So, how was the kid’s dance lesson?

Me: I”m sure it was lovely.

Mate: You spent the hour asleep in the car.

Me: I didn’t even tilt the seat back.

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