poor sick leah
On friday i woke up at 5am for my spin class, and everything hurt. Not like a good hurt, like from lifting weights or from hours on the treadmill, but a disgustingly weak hurt from a fever coursing through my body and the spirit of a thousand strips of sand-paper in my throat. m-----f----- i was sick. I hate being sick more than i hate anything else in the world, except perhaps how many calories there are in margaritas. Being sick is not only means you can't do your awesome plans like going to 6am spin class, but you can't do FREAKIN ANYTHING except lie around and moan, "Daaaaaannnnnnnyyyyyyyyyy??????? Can you briiiiiing me anouther blaaaaaaaanket???"
Saturday i was not as sick as friday, except that leaving the house to go to the store was like a collosal excursion of arctic proportions. Oh, and there was NOTHING on TV. Today i was fully expecting to be all better, but when i woke up to voice my usual, "Good morning bright beautiful world! What i wonderful day i have planned!!!" nothing came out. My sore throat had turned my mute. "Some," Dan said comfortingly, "might say that this is an improvement."
So now, not only do i feel like ass with similar levels of energy, but i can't even yell for blankets and sympathetic attention. And i'm not even losing weight; it's the feed-a-cold kind. (silent hand wringing) I really hate being sick.