I am sick. With some kind of bronchial thing and I just feel generally gross besides the obvious sore throat. No Handel throat olympics for me for the next FIVE DAYS, or so says my ENT.
Just today I've had to turn down two fantastic offers from two different fabulous friends for offers to do really fun things like go to Albert Herring or drink with JB, who left us for St. Paul's K Street. I can't I just can't, girls. AS much as I want to. Not only am I mortally ill, but my in-laws are coming in tonight (they're en route as we speak), and I need to save my mental and physical energy.
Going to the doctor wore me out, and now I have to go over to the ghetto rite aid and pick up my prescriptions. I do have some Ginger Rogers and Fred Astaire to look forward to when I return home, however, so it won't be a wasted day.
I used to not do so well with being pretty much laid low by sickness. But these days', it's all good. If my body says "Take it down a notch, you wacko," I listen.
Plus, you know what they say: "Feed a cold; Starve a fever." Mine is: "Buy On Demand movies for a bronchial infection."