So, I've had malaria for the past 3 days now.

O.K., fine, it's not malaria, it's just a cold. But, seriously, when your sinuses are messed up, do you really care what the diagnosis is? No. You just want to take a drill to your forehead and let the pressure out. (Paraphrasing my friend CM there. Pretty accurate, though I'm wondering if a Dyson might be just as effective with much less scarring.)

I'm actually beginning to feel somewhat human again, but just to make sure it takes me twice as long to get over said cold, and to guarantee that I look like the walking dead when I make my return to work tomorrow (actually, later this morning), the pharmaceutical industry made sure that the miracle cold drug commonly known as sudafed (pronounced by cold sufferers as suuuuuu-da-fed, in reverence of it's truly magical effects on general head congestion) completely screws up your sleep cycle. It's no wonder all those meth addicts always have bags under their eyes: they have got to be completely sleep deprived.

And when you finally do fall asleep, when the sudafed is beginning to wear off way too soon, whatever side of your face you happen to be laying on gets completely stopped up, so you have to rollover every 20 minutes or so to relieve the pressure, as gravity moves the crud from one side of your head to the other. Gross, but universally true.

On the plus side, in between naps I've had quite a bit of time to waste in ways that require very little physical exertion, which basically means I've been watching tv, roaming the internet ("surfing" seemed too taxing, and really implies much more direction), and emailing, which is my preferred method of communication this week, as I currently sound way too much like Kathleen Turner.

While catching up on many a blog, I saw a video on vlogbrothers which made me giggle (which incidentally unclogged one of my ears for about an hour...added bonus):



Kind of makes me wonder what I might find if I ever get around to unpacking the boxes that are still scattered around my "office" (aka spare room) 6 months after my move. Of course, I'm not really curious enough to actually go unpack them anytime soon; I figure if I put it off long enough, I'll be saving myself the effort of re-packing them when I move again.

Also on the plus side: I was not in a plane crash today. Nor did I have to decide whether or not to help a serial killer commit suicide so he could donate his organs to a dying kid, like Meredith on Grey's Anatomy.

Makes my life seem very mundane and definitely drama-lite. :)