Ohhhhhh, I’m dying. I dragged my ass out of bed at 7 this morning and went to the doctor’s office so I’d be there the minute they opened at 8. This time, I even brought a book, which I forgot to do last week when I took the spud and therefore spent the entire time staring blankly at the wall for 2 hours. There were only two people ahead of me, so I was in and out of the office in about 40 minutes, which is amazing for that place. I got my three prescriptions – antibiotic, decongestant, narcotic cough medicine – and I was back home a little less than an hour after I left, with a stop at the grocery store thrown in. Once home, I took the antibiotic, grabbed the spud and went to work. I would have called in sick, but there were reports and invoices and blahblahblah that had to be done today so they could be turned in. I told the spud we’d only be there for about half an hour.


While we were on our way home, Fred was at his doctor’s office, having his blood sugar tested, having a flu test (they ram a very long Q-tip up your nose and wiggle it around) and having blood taken. The consensus there was that, since his white blood cell count was low, his bronchitis was viral rather than bacterial, so his doctor gave him something other than the antibiotics he’d been expecting. He got the really good cough syrup, though, and won’t share with me. The bastard.

I’m going to cut this short tonight, beloved readers. I’m feeling like total crap, and there are certain things I must do before dragging my ass upstairs. Like pay bills. If I fail to update tomorrow night, I’m either dead or just can’t force myself to sit in front of the computer for long enough to type up an entry. It doesn’t mean I don’t love you, ’cause you know I do.

Woe is me.