Death hit me with his car.
Ugh, I feel like Death hit me with his car... then (while cackling evilly to himself) carefully backed up so that he could make sure he drove over me once more on his way out.
Being immunocompromised sucks eggs, guys. A day or so agony mom and I had a sore throats and told each other "uh, oh." By that evening we were sucking down tea, decongestants and prescription strength cough suppressants. Now my chest hurts when I breathe, and I feel like a major whiny wimp. But my *toe joints* ache. And I haven't even gotten out of bed yet. Dude. That's not cool.
Sigh... ok. I can do this. Big girl pants. I'm gonna go make my mom some tea.