||[Apr. 14th, 2006|12:58 pm]
So, is it *possible* that there were walls made up of bacteria in my body, and as the antibiotics start killing off the bacteria that make up the walls, it's letting other bacteria loose? |
Because that's how it feels. Either that, or I definitely have one of those bugs where killing the bug is what makes you feel like crap.
Either that, or my body is finally realizing that I'm going to let it rest, and is kicking my ass for having refused to let it rest before now.
Damn. I've decided the only thing more amusing than being extremly sleep deprived, and tipsy, is being feverish (or, as I suggested in a potato patch nearby, fever-like) and realizing that all these wonderfully amusing thoughts just *aren't* occurring to other people the way they're occurring to you.
Well, my ginger-lemon herbal tea is done brewing. I think it's time for me to take it to bed. In a nonsexual fashion, that is. I'm going to sip at it slowly, letting the delicate sweetness run across my tongue and feel the warmth it creates go through me. Ain't no way no one's going to confuse that with anything perverse!
I'm going to sip at it slowly, letting the delicate sweetness run across my tongue and feel the warmth it creates go through me.
Oh, wait ...
2006-04-14 08:57 pm (UTC)
I offer sympathy and a reminder of my mother's cure for colds:
Get a bottle of whiskey and a hat and go to bed.
Put the hat on a post at the foot of the bed. If your
bed hasn't a post there, improvise.
Sip the whiskey until you see two hats.
Commence sipping whenever the hats try to re-converge.
By the time you finish the whiskey, you should be over your cold. Until then you won't care.