I think my bronchitis is karmic retribution for snarking at Nicole Kidman’s portrayal of Tuberculosis in Moulin Rouge.
I’m worse today.
With any luck, I’ll get better in time to go to work tomorrow.
sigh
This holiday weekend sucks.
No wonder three people dropped me off their favorites list.
Esteban made me his extra special Chicken & Stars for dinner. It’s extra special because he opens the can of Campbell’s soup and heats it on the stove rather than in the microwave. And he stands there and stirs it.
Don’t ask me what makes that taste better, but it does.
It’s a mystery.
Anyway, we almost went to the First Care (which is the non-emergency emergency room at the hospital, which is open on weekends and holidays), but I chickened out three blocks away. I hate going there. It drives me nuts. It always takes forever and they end up pissing me off. Basically, I didn’t feel like sitting trapped in some room for three hours, waiting for a resident to tell me that I have bronchitis and then another hour until they bring me a script for Amoxocillin. I just don’t feel like it. So maybe I’m being a big baby about it, but it’s night time and I have my Nyquil to get me through the night. Then I can call and make an appointment at my regular doctor in the morning. And maybe she can hook me up with some more of that great codeine cough syrup, because that’s what I’m really jonesing for.
If I don’t update for the next couple of days, you’ll know that I asphyxiated in my sleep. Or am in an Ny-quil induced alcoholic coma.
My secret joy today: I finally got Esteban to read Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone. He’s being very non-chalant about it. He’s casually asking me about the second book. He reminded me twice to bring it along for him to read on our aborted trip to the Non-Emergency Room.
Score!
cough
