Ask after me tomorrow and you shall find me a grave copywriter.
Hello world. I spent a good deal of last night in the grips of some mania, first yowling at my housemates about...something, I actually can't remember what, but it involved a lot of gesturing and pacing around the living after which I demanded that someone play videogames with me. I lasted one off-road ATV race before slumping back on the couch and then stumbling back to my room to intermittently lie around and terrify my friends for the next few hours.
I had a hideous headache and was too awake to sleep yet too tired to lift my arms and type properly; guess which thing I let stop me. Mostly I sent hilariously typo-ridden IMs to my friends, with occasional breaks to collapse onto the bed and stare disconsolately at the bedspread. I levelled off around midnight, after most of my friends had gone to bed thinking I was insane, and so sent a host of text messages this morning before work assuring people that I had not succumbed to eternal rest with my last words to them having been: "srrry li;slhddwwn ilu snkakesonaplnae." It's been coming and going in the last twenty-four hours. When I got back from the clinic I sort of wanted to die but then I spent my last break taking a fifteen-minute nap on the grass outside (the glamorous life of a copywriter) and that helped make me feel less like my brain was going to leap out of my skull and do an interpretive dance.
So yes, today I skipped lunch and went to the doctor instead. (Conclusion from that experience: Lunch > waiting for an hour in a lobby with Dr. Doolittle on loud in the background and only one copy of Seattle Metropolitan to read when I could be bothered to remain upright.)
I've been diagnosed with a sinal bronchial infection, which is far less romantic than consumption. Thumbs down. It's sort of anticlimactic, actually; after a month and a half of illness and last night's descent into darkness I woke up half-convinced I had SARS or a brain tumor, possibly both. "But what will X10 do without me?" I thought feverishly to myself. "Who will eat all the beef jerky out of the vending machines? Someone has to be around to take all the good candy from the receptionist's desk and blame Owen for everything!" It was a worrisome few hours in which I roamed WebMD, tripping through its unnavigable landscape (why should the search engines ever bring up what you're searching for? what would be the fun in that?) in between intense sessions of writing stuff and poking Dreamweaver with a stick.
(Sidenote: right now people are talking about getting Mexican food for dinner, which is making me seethe with jealousy because before my body aggressively rebelled I had planned on hitting Taco Del Mar for lunch, and the brown sugar cinnamon Pop-Tarts I had at my desk at three o'clock instead were just not the same. Depressing.)
In other news, for those of you that want quick access to all new entries from our X10 blog community, I made a Kinja so I could more easily harrass my coworkers with inane comments keep track of what everyone is saying. Check it out here if you're so inclined, or just access the blogs with the prettiest pictures via the X10 Community page. Isn't it nice to have choices? I choose life. And Coke. (Except for the brief period in which Britney Spears was young and attractive and intent on selling me Pepsi products. Look, I only have limited stores of willpower, you know.)