Okay - so there I am, Sunday night. It's about 8:30 and I am happily watching Hugh Jackman (sigh, drool, sigh) open the Oscars. I don't usually watch the Oscars, because I think Hollywood already pats itself on the back often enough about how wonderful they all are - ahem - any way - but Hugh is hosting and I am soooo there because of it.
I've been through two boxes of tissues since Saturday. I could give Rudolph quite the run for his money.
I'm feeling okay - got a lot done on those revisions (I want this manuscript outta here by this weekend.) The kids are asleep. Hubs is right there with me, not minding my drooling and sighing over Hugh. He's kind of used to it.
I cough.
I sneeze.
Wait. What is that sore spot in the back of my throat again???
NO!!!!!!!
Yes.
I woke up yesterday feeling like the bus that hit me last week made a U-turn and came back for a second pass.
How does that happen? I always heard you couldn't catch your own cold. Am I a freak of medical science???
I caught my own cold.
And now I'm sick all over again.
Last night, I was in bed by 8 o'clock. 8 o'clock!!! I haven't done that since I was my daughter's age. I managed to make it through Countdown. Made it halfway through Rachel Maddow's show (sans Rachel, who was out sick last night) before falling asleep. Woke up at 11:30 and thought Okay. I'm up. I can watch the second half of Rachel Maddow since I missed it once. Thank God for MSNBC repeats.
Promptly fall back asleep. Awake at a little after midnight and Chris Matthews. Rats. Missed the end of Rachel Maddow's show twice.
Woke up this morning feeling not much better, but at least the sore throat is gone.
Didn't get much done on revisions. I don't think I'm going to make my own deadline.
Damn it.
Cold meds are kicking in. I need a nap .
Maybe I'll get something done today.
When I wake up.
Maybe.
I hate being sick.
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