Suck-o! I've caught the mother-truckin' sickness.
I haven't had anything to eat since Wednesday when I ate chicken fingers next to a grown man wearing a bib. Why is it that all large men eat wings? It's like a rite of passage. Regardless, if not for the uncomfortable distress my body is going through, I'd be happy to be on the Sickness Diet and shed some winter weight. I have zero appetite but I've had so many cans of Pepsi, I've got non-stop shakes and really stale soda breath. Yesterday, after I zombied my way through work and was told I looked "hit", I came home and slept for 18 hours. 18! And I feel like garbage that has been puked on, ate by a racoon, and puked up by that very same racoon.
This is what happens when you work in such close quarters. You either catch whatever bug floats around the office (and the current buggy has landed a salesman in the hospital getting poked and prodded) or you end up fooling around with a co-worker. Those are really your only options. Check and check check.
So here I am, losing 8 hours of pay and being all around effin' grouchy. Had yet another uncalled for spat with my fella after a bar outting on Wednesday. He blames it on the beer and a previously pissed-off attitude. He apologized and promised it would never happen again but I told him I didn't buy it. I bought into that package for four years and ended up barely alive. So who knows where that whole thing stands. I'm not a big fan of crying at work, I know that much. I left throwing my hands up in the air and saying, "You're driving me fucking nuts". And that's the truth.
I predict a long and lonely weekend in bed with soup. Don't forget about me.
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