The Plague

Clay and I share everythinga life, a townhouse, a stinky beagle, money, sometimes the same pair of his old baseball sweatpants, one brainso it makes total sense that we would share germs, too. After spending an entire weekend with Sicky McSickerson, I ended up contracting whatever plague was (and still is) infecting his body.

(Which he takes no responsibility for, by the way. I told him it was his fault I was ill and his response? "That's what happens when you can't keep your hands off of me." He's humble, that one.)

I called in sick to work yesterday because I spent the better part of the previous night sweating through my pj's and trying to swallow the hot coals that were burning in the back of my throat. Around 4:00 a.m. I was jolted from my fitful sleep by the sound of gale-force winds crashing against the side of our house. Flashes of lightning sparked outside the window and rumbles of thunder shook my bed frame. In my delirious, fevered state, I couldn't connect the dots that we were having inclement weather and I honest-to-goodness thought the world was coming to end. My suspicions were confirmed when I sat up and noticed Clayton was not laying in bed next to me.

"Great," I thought, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes, "Clayton got raptured and I didn't."

But as it turns out, it wasn't the Apocalypse. It was just a rare January thunderstorm that did little to convince me that global warming is only a huge lie made up by the government.

I felt like I got ran over by a truck and with the swelling in the back of my throat, I could have sworn I had mumps. Then I freaked about having mumps and spent 20 minutes googling the symptoms on my Kindle Fire before I passed back out in bed.

I rarely get sick. I like to credit my dedication to fitness and healthy eating as the primary reason why I rarely succumb to the sniffles. Yet no matter how many precautions you take and despite how many multivitamins you shove into your system like Pez candy, your immune system will occasionally betray you anyway.

I don't even know what's wrong with me. I have a fever (and possibly the mumps?) and my throat feels like it was massaged with a cheese grater. A pounding sinus headache was a wonderful new development this morning, as well as the overwhelming desire to play Sleeping Beauty for a few hundred years. But my nose isn't stuffy yet and I don't have a cough. Clay had a straight-up common cold; I have no idea what he gave me.

Eventually I yanked my body out of bed and forced myself to get some work done because I felt guilty for being sick (I think being guilty is a hobby of mine). But after working on a few publicity documents, I fell back asleep for what felt like the millionth time.

Everything there after is a blur.

So much to my dismay, Clay and I skipped our salsa dance class since he was still leaking snot from his face and I was apparently a walking zombie. Over the weekend I practiced the basic steps we learned in our first session and was raring to redeem myself in this week's class. But Clayton figured it wouldn't do anyone any good if I was lurching around the studio in a Nyquil-incuded haze and he was sneezing on everyone and everything.

We're a sexy pair, he and I.

So you'll have to excuse my erratic posting schedule this week. Hopefully things will be back to normal by the weekend.