February 10th, 2005

Wedding day

How many times can you rhyme "hand" with "hand?"

I feel really lousy, like I've just come out of a full-body cast. My reflexes seem limp, and moving around isn't fun. It's not quite an ache, but it seems more physically demanding than usual.

I must be coming down with something. It hit me abruptly last night while Ellen was over, and it's only gotten worse. I hope I don't make her sick. I went to work anyway, but I didn't feel like going out on my lunchbreak (and, coincidentally, I had packed a lunch), so I just worked through it. This is good. I left early on Tuesday for a dental appointment, and if I take half of my lunchbreak tomorrow I won't need to take sick time to compensate.

...unless I end up taking tomorrow off.

But I don't know if that will happen, because part of my general physical discomfort might be due to the fact that someone has devoted a blog to That Pepsi Girl.

Even worse is an e-mail I got this morning from the woman who (if you remember that far back) sent me THE ALL-AMERICAN BALD EAGEL around this time last year. She isn't willing to stop forwarding messages, so I made her promise to "only send the best ones." Over the course of about three months, the occasionally funny joke in my e-mail became a deluge of insipid forwarded messages with subjects like "Kitty Cuties" and "The American Pact of Friendship." I can't block her messages because I need to e-mail her occasionally, and I'm told by others that complaining to her boss (who also gets the same e-mails) doesn't help.

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It's 4:46. I leave quite soon. I can't wait.

I'm not exhausted enough to collapse, but I wouldn't mind holding my bed down for a while.
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