I hate being sick. Honestly, everyone does. But I don't often get sick in the traditional sense. I could bathe in the snot of a tuberculosis patient and emerge unscathed, but the second the weather decides to spontaneously change, I'm fucked.
Let me explain:
I live near San Francisco, where the weather is always screwy anyway. We get the best and worst of every season. The problem is, summer and fall seem to be rapidly switching places around here. Last monday, we had overcast skies and some good breezes. I actually thought it was gonna rain. The very next day, we hit 93 degrees late afternoon. I woke up that morning feeling like there was a billiard ball in my left lung. I hacked up a half-dollar sized hunk of brownish lung butter in the shower, too.
So here I am, brain the size of a planet, coughing like a bastard, eating a chicken pot pie, and hoping to God I can finish posting this before the Nyquil kicks in.
Fuck weather.
/rant
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