Just Another Girl On The IRT

Freestyle musings from a pseudo-intellectual hellcat in high heels with Huxtable aspirations in a ghetto fab world. Proudly sponsored by bouts of bitchy mood swings, one too many swigs of Turning Leaf, the letters F & U and the madness that is the Rotten Apple.

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Location: Brooklyn, New York, United States

Work in progress. Neurotic. Daydream believer. Bookworm. Addicted to the arts. Stubborn. Spoiled rotten. Lefty in more ways than one. Pop culture whore. Equal opportunity hater. Kid at heart.

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Tuesday, December 12, 2006

The nighttime sniffling sneezing coughing aching fever entry

I wanna be sedatedMother Nature's a fucking bitch. There's no other way to get around it. How else to explain when the weather's still so unseasonably mild in mid-December and my open toed Miu Miu slingbacks are mocking me from the closet door since I'm sitting on the bench when it comes to getting my devil wears Malandrino on around the office. When my temples feel like Matthew McConaughey's playing bongos with an extended encore all night and day, the last thing I wanna do is get all dolled up. So here I am, wallowing in self-pity, sinuses in full on rush hour gridlock and my hair's stuck resembling something that got caught in a drain.

I. Can. Not. Be. Sick. Now. I haven't even put together a rough draft of an Xmas list. Gotta risk spraining a ligament to get icicle lights perfectly symmetrical around my awning. I have places to go and about 4 more entries to type. This can't be happening. I cannot get sick, you hear me, body? WE cannot get sick.

But we are.

I used to know how to be sick gracefully. I would simply accept the inevitable, guzzle down enough Robitussin to tranquilize a wilderbeast and curl up with a good book or two.

Three days later, I'd be back to my footloose and fancy free self with Boy George cooing, "it's a miracle!"

Now it's a task easier said than done. I'm seriously lacking sleep, e-mails are piling up. Just thinking about the deadlines I've already missed jacks my temp up another degree and a half. I start swilling poppin' Benadryls like Lindsay Lohan after dark and giving myself pep talks.

Come on, stop being a baby and pull yourself together. Look on the bright side, sippin' on that DayQuil sizurp has made small talk at the water cooler like an outtake from Half Baked.

But so far the pep talk isn't working nearly as hard as the germs are. You'd think those stubborn mucus membranes were being paid overtime or expecting Christmas bonuses.

So my whining will be brief. This is what happens when the cold and flu season smacks you behind the legs with a baseball bat. YOU FALL THE FUCK DOWN. On some real Donnie McClurkin shit.

All chicken noodle soup donations (without the soda on the side) are accepted.

link | Shot from the lip by TriniPrincess at 1:44 PM |

Anonymous Anonymous commented at 12/30/2006 01:24:00 PM~  

Girl, DayQuil doesn't do a thing for me, it's all about NyQuil....

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