Eleven hours after waking up today, I've achieved the primary goal I had for the day: get home and go to bed. I woke up with every joint and muscle in my body aching and my chest feeling like someone has taken a vice grip to it. It's that stuff that makes it hurt to raise your pinkie, you know, the flu. Unfortunately, I was 250 miles and two meetings with prospective students away from home.
So I got through the meetings, drove the miles, dropped things off at the office, returned the rental car (a Mazda 3, NOT a Mazda 5, thank you!), and changed the sheets on the bed, and now here I lay with a warm, purring cat next to me, ready to crash for the day.
So why am I blogging? Because apparently the only thing I hate worse than feeling like crap is not having anyone to commiserate with me in my agony.
What good is a blog if you can't use it to drum up all the sympathy you need in such circumstances?