phoebus

True story.

Last night, for those of you following this drama, I was so sick, I thought it couldn't get any worse. I knew I had a 101 point-something fever earlier that morning, and things were just getting shittier while I was wrapped up in blankies in my bed. Yeah, I know, real hard-ass, right?

Probably around 11 PM, having run out newer movies I haven't seen in a while, I took a chance on Transformers: The Movie. Strangely (maybe not strangely considering my state), I started getting motivated. I moved my ass to the kitchenette and brewed a cup of hot cocoa and pulled a Guinness out of the fridge. Four Guinness and a couple of cups of hot choc later, I'm thinking "that's not so bad... how about a smoke?"

So by the time the good Autobot is beating the main baddie, I'm getting my second wind here, but I'm done with all 8 Guinness in my fridge. So I decide "fuck this, I'm taking this sickness head-on." And I go for a nice 6 mile run in the middle of the night.

I got back home, I'm on fire (and not in a good way), fall on my bed and pass out. My alarm clock briefly woke me, but I didn't even get a chance to shut it off before passing out again. I woke up again about 1100 AM (hideously late for the military), but I feel like a fucking champ. Not 100%, but definitely in the high 90s. Which further goes to show that medicine sucks. You just have to remember who's boss.