I've been under the weather for the past two days, which involved moping in bed (to the tune of seven episodes of Will & Grace) with watery soup cans of mush.
But hey! I'm back! I mentioned feeling sick to my neighbor yesterday and he brought over six bottles of pills. Harmless pills, of the zinc and vitamin c variety, but MAGICAL ones. Or should I say, placebo ones. Anyway, I woke up today at 6 am, an hour before my usual death sentence, and actually did a fist pump because I was stoked that I had extra sleeping time.
My re-found health and energy was further propelled by the blasting of M.I.A. on my way to work. Because really, how can you drag your feet to someone chanting BAMBOO BANGA GET CRACKIN' GET GET CRACKIN'. You just get can't. And so I didn't. And the whole time I imagined she was my kickass personal trainer (except she was in that polka dot outfit from the Grammy's, see below), pushing me to only take one step in each cement square, rather than three miny ones.
I think I'm a weird kid.
I wrote this blog at work so if anyone passed by the comp, I suspect that they suspect that I'm one of those creepers with a thing for pregnant people.
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