My skin is electrified (as it always is when I get sick) and my head is filled with biodegradable cornstarch packing peanuts - if it were to get wet it would all melt away. Perhaps this is why I have been spending so much time in the shower. I secretly hope that it'll all melt down the drain, much like the girlfriend in "Blood Music," sending little nano Megs out into the world to infect you all with this martian death sinus crap.
Work is not pleased that I am not there. I am not pleased that I am not at work. Jonathan was over last night because he has today and tomorrow off. I vaguely remember him leaving this morning, taking my boxed up clothes with him as he left. I love him because even with wads of toilet paper shoved up my nose and eyes red from rubbing and a chest that's covered with goo from my sneezes, he still thinks I'm cute and he still loves me, even when I say things that are totally cold medication induced.
Last night we moved the futon downstairs with a "take me I'm free!" sign on it. The books and movies that I had put down there the night before had already disappeared. I tell myself its because they were wanted and it wasn't just the janitors throwing them away. Nothing distresses me more like the idea of a book in a landfill. It's such a sad and lonely thought. Leaving books out on the curb to me is like leaving a box full of kittens outside a grocery store. Sure, someone might take them home but odds are they'll end up alone and have to fend for themselves. Books aren't too good at fending. I hope for the best.
Today I am going to sleep some more. I've taken my meds (let's hear it for the z pack!) and my tylenol sever congestion pills that should last me until about noon. My fingers are still stiff with water retention and I don't want to step on the scale because I know my weight will be up. However, it's just a number.
Sasha has determined that the most comfortable place to sleep is on cardboard in the middle of our empty living room.