Sick and tired.
No, really, I'm just sick. But it's making me tired. Tired of that tickle in my throat. Tired of the congestion. Tired of blowing my nose. Tired of sneezing. Tired of Nyquil. Sick, and tired.
To make matters worse, this happens to be the week that my overpaid and underworked husband has another one of his "have to use this quarter a year of vacation sometime" weeks off . . . So he's going to sit around the house playing poker, napping, and generally being underfoot, and I have probably about 80 hours of work to do before I travel next week to BFE Arkansas. Dry county no less.
If I invite you to my pity party, will you all come?
I promise there will be alcohol . . . unless we schedule it the week I'm in "who still thinks repealing Prohibition was the reason we're in this den of iniquity" Arkansas.
Sick and tired, but respectfully submitted,