I've been sick.
I don't mean in a carve-up-puppies-for-Halloween way, either. I have been put in my place by my allergies. This was a full-on assault on my body, though I tried in vain to continue my meager workout routine, my little body finally gave in and I was forced to submit. I stayed home crying and moping about for the last two days. Though I do feel better today, I am skeptical about the prospect of feeling like conquering the world anytime soon.
This always seems to happen when I have been working for a while. Suddenly, I have some time off and my body thinks it's being clever by taking advantage of the opportunity to kick my ass. I always say it is allergies, even if it's not. I don't like the idea of a viral infection one bit. Some nasty ass little germ traveling from someone's grody lungs into the air and finally being swallowed up into mine, that disgusts me. I much prefer the idea of some nasty ass little germ traveling from a mold spore or a freaking flower, into me. Don't ask me why...
So, having spent several days as a chewtoy of the gods, I am now ready to fight back. I emerged from my bed (after 12 quality hours, thank you Cherry NyQuil!) to find that the day is not so fucking ugly and I need to feel better. Perhaps I may even do a little yoga or some such activity... I certainly hope that the worst of it is over. I am a mean sick person. Anyway, here is a little word problem for you:
If I had a monkey and you were allergic to it, I would probably not get rid of it. I just wouldn't date you because monkeys are expensive. But I don't have a monkey, so what's the fucking problem?