Sunday, June 04, 2006

Being sick sucks ass.

I’ve had a 50-kleenex-a-day cold since Thursday morning, and I’m feeling quite sexy with my red nose and my hacking cough and my drool-stained pillows and my dragon breath. Somebody kiss me!

And even though my stuffy nose is waking me up every two hours with the threat of suffocation, I’ve gotten more sleep this weekend than I’ve had cumulatively in the last month. I managed to wake up at 6:30 on Saturday to run seven miles with the AIDS Marathon folks and then even go out to brunch with everyone afterward. But when I got home I crashed hard for a couple hours. Then I met my new running buddy (hi, new running buddy!) for a beach picnic with some of his friends, where I promptly became all antisocial and fell asleep again (thankfully under a protective coating of SPF 45).

After a brief detour to H2O+ where we stocked up on sale spa products, NRB and I got ourselves all cleaned up and he joined me and my friends for a rather disappointing dinner (cold food, clueless wait staff, no silverware, loud music) at a Mexican place not far from my house—a Mexican place that will hereafter be known as The Place Jake Had His First Margarita. (The verdict: yawn. I drank almost a whole glass, and I do not get the appeal of a beverage that tastes like lime Windex. Though I do know if I ever order one again it won’t be with salt.)

But my cold was not being my friend, and even after two power naps and an invigorating run I was pretty wiped, so after dinner we left my friends and had a quiet little nightcap together at a dessert place down the street, then I dropped NRB off with his friends again and headed home to bed, where I proceeded to sleep for a whopping 14 full-drool hours (minus a few suffocation breaks).

Unfortunately, I woke up at noon today—the exact time I’d promised to be at work to help put out a client fire. Fortunately, it’s a Sunday, so what the hell do I care if I’m late for work? I got all showered and steam-sinused and to my desk by 1:30, where I’ve been hacking and coughing and ostensibly working for the last six hours—with two more hours until I call it a day and meet Matt at IHOP for our Sunday-night fat-and-calorie ritual.

Apparently, though, I made too much of a fuss about being all sick and miserable today, because everyone at work was all “poor Jake” and “I’m sorry you have to work on a weekend when you’re sick” and “don’t touch my computer with your pestilent paws, you vile Typhoid Mary”—and sometimes all that pity is a little more nauseating than the cold itself.

The client fire is due to be put out by EOD Tuesday, so if I can hang onto my cold that long I can really stretch out the enjoyment of this unique combination of suffering.

Then on Wednesday, NRB and I have our regularly scheduled running-and-cooking date.

Oops. Did I just say date?

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