I feel like a phony even posting anything on here today. I don't have an amusing ancedote to share, but I'm just typing to pass the time, so that I don't fall asleep at my desk. I seem to to have contracted some type of wierd stomach virus and I've been feeling sick for a few days. And the thing about being sick is that you're doing nothing. Can do nothing except lay still and wish you were dead. I couldn't stay home today, or I certainly would've tried. I did stay home yesterday. It's not like I work at a sweatshop. But even Oprah was too much stimulation for my tired brain. I did finish this stupid book about a talking cat. It's as dumb as it sounds.
I have a project due tommorow. It sometimes makes me wish that I had a job that didn't require the use of my brain. But what can you do? I'm certain I'll be better tommorow, after my steady diet of saltines, flat vernors, and gatorade. I feel like Karen Carpenter could've had her own diet plan. At least it's helping me shed some of the holiday food weight. It seems more effective than even the South Beach diet.
That's the one good thing. Loss of appetite. And my feet are unaturually hot. Enough whining.