Last night I felt great. In perfect health. This morning I wake up with a nasty sore throat and the beginnings of sinus congestion. I feel like crap.
It’s as if, while I slept, my white blood cells said “C’mon boys, he’s asleep! Let’s go to a strip club and get drunk!”. And then they leave the front door ajar, and in walks some shady character who insidiously multiplies his viral infection until all hope is lost.
I hate being sick. I remember precisely the last time I was ill, because it was such a monumental state of poor health. It was when I got sick at Megacon earlier this year, and Brian Clevinger likened my appearance to that of the living dead, neither fully present in this world, or the next.
Talk about a dent in productivity. I do have to wonder though, if bedrest and chicken soup aren’t the remedies of the past. Perhaps the influenzas and common colds of our technological age can be cured with overdoses of World of Warcraft and Hulk: Ultimate Destruction. I’d be happy to find out. In the name of science, of course.
Still, I’m not a happy camper right now. There’s little worse than trying to concentrate on artwork when your whole body is screaming “ACHE!”. But the work has to get done. In fact, you can watch me work on a piece of artwork over on my journal, if you wish. Assuming my throat doesn’t spell completely shut, and I have to spend the afternoon figuring out how to breath through my ears.
And all because my white blood cells were out late, stuffing dollar bills into the g-strings of busty women and dropping irish carbombs with little regard for home security.
Now there’s a mental image, eh?