Apparently, I am the queen of the mystery illness.

I don’t get sick with normal things, no. That would be… well, normal.

I get sick with things that make doctors go, “Huh… um…” and furrow their brow.

Seeing as it’s been a year since I’ve had one of those mystery illnesses, I suppose my body decided that it was time for another freak show. This time, though, I’m not the only one in the cast of characters. My whole office has been coming down with this mysterious illness, taking turns so that we can still get things done, of course. It comes in waves, lasts for about a month, and makes doctors scratch their heads.

With engineers who travel all over the world, we haven’t the slightest idea what it actually is or from where it originated. Google told me that I either had several different variations of leukemia or anthrax. At least it’s better than when Google used to always think that I was knocked up.

… And it’s not as bad at the Strep Throat That Wasn’t I had last year.

Frankly, since the last thing to go around the office was pregnancy, I’ll gladly take this virus instead.

So, I’m totally pooped. I’ve slept through the last few days and feel like I could keep sleeping until Monday… after next. That’s why there was no weigh-in post (I slept through it) or Skanky Tuesday (slept through it) and why there will probably be no posts for a few more days (I’ll probably sleep through them).

Last night I just barely made it up and out of my apartment to go to my voice lesson and to go grocery shopping (I always combine the two). It was definitely a challenge to stay on my feet and to put in the physical effort needed to sing properly. It’s amazing how physically demanding that is.

Then I went home and died.

Metaphorically, of course.

I kind of feel like someone rubbed Icy Hot all over my bones, which was not very nice of them, and then rewired my brain to make bananas taste like ass. No, I can’t make that statement. I totally don’t know what ass tastes like. That’s bringing really gross images to my head. Let’s move on.

As much fun as it would be to continue to deliriously ramble at you, I have a pillow that I like better and it’s calling my name. I’m not sure if my fever is high enough that I’m hallucinating or if I just have a magical talking pillow (I’ll read that later and realize how un-funny that joke was), but either way, it’s quite convincing.

Pretty much, this whole post was like the equivalent of a drunk text. Fever post? Drunk text? Same thing. Both leave you shaking your head at yourself the next morning.

Not that I would know ANYTHING about drunk texting.

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