Apparently instead of a tee-shirt from Arizona, I brought home, a cold.
I don’t like being sick. I don’t have time to be sick.
When I’m sick, the world is ending and nothing is right: no one likes me, I’m thoroughly unwantable, and all of my food tastes icky. I have the attention span of a gnat, so not even Doctor Who will keep my interest. Someone has replaced my brain with cotton batting and my mouth is full of Brillo.
I need to be spoiled.