Bridge to Terrible-sick-ia

This has been a really LONG week, especially since I've been under the weather. Seriously. The weather has been lying on top of me like some obese incubus, completely violating my body and rudely crushing me with all of its floundering and flip flopping.*

Observe: Sunday and Monday it flurried after a gorgeous previous week in the 80's. Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday were rainy and cold-fronty mixed with sunshine and butterflies. Friday was all about the SEVERE, super cell, form above your house and drop the scary tentacles of doom storms, complete with multiple "unconfirmed" tornadoes, uprooted trees (they were sucked out of the ground, roots and all), and (of-course) many trailer parks turned up-side-down and flung on top of each other. Trinity Good Shepherd of the Dunk-is-Better-than-Sprinkled Baptist Church's roof was torn off in Haltom City, and I'm sure there will be some up-lifting article written about how, "Yes, the roof was ripped off and the pews were scattered, but did you see that the pulpit was still perfectly untouched and the debris that slammed into the residence next door made a perfect cross on their living room floor? (without the naked Jesus!) Yes. This is God's sign. The devil tried to destroy us, but what a miracle."

As you can see, I'm feeling very gripey about it all, especially since this cold/flu I've contracted is dragging it's feet in my immune system. I've been having one symptom at a time: pink eye-bola, sore throat, sneezy-wheezy Kleenex pleasey, and spleen rattling choking cough. None of the symptoms alone merits missing a day of work, and each of the symptoms has me crawling home each day, curling up into the fetal position, and staring out the window until 8:00 when I can rationalize going to bed.

ANYWAY, there is a point amidst all of this rambling. The point is that I haven't read anything very interesting lately since reading seems like a task akin to Google's directions about swimming across the Atlantic (to France from NYC). I haven't been exercising for obvious reasons. I haven't had any intelligent/coherent conversations in the last few days, seeing as I cough up a lung every time I speak (which really puts people off). My mind, body, and spirit are decomposing as I type.

The worst part is I am a complete asshole for indulging in my own dramatic pity party because I am well aware that this little complaint is minuscule compared to some of the other things going on in the world.

So this is it. I've said my peace, and now I'm going to do what Mr. Lambrecht always snootily said to do whenever we griped about being completely exhausted, our feet and lips bleeding from too much exertion; I'm going to build a bridge and GET OVER IT. (Figuratively, though I think Mr. Lambrecht really expected us to break-out the 2x4's and hammers..)

*Dear Incubus, the least you can do is come in the form of David Beckham or the guy who plays the nerd-boy on Criminal Minds. What's with this George Kostanza in a mustard-stained wife-beater? Have some freakin' courtesy, man! I swear!