Being Sick Sucks

First of all, we're not talking about the usual kind of sick associated with Joy. I mean, yeah, I'm one sick puppy at times. Or at least an inappropriate puppy. Or Captain Inappropriate as it says on my JLA membership card. Or, y'know, it would if the JLA would let me in.

Anyway. I'm sick. Ill. Under the weather. Not feeling quite up to snuff. Etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.

I have a cold that is mostly presenting itself with a persistent and annoying cough. And insomnia. Yeah. The most important thing you can do when you're sick is to drink plenty of fluids and get plenty of rest. But will my body cooperate? NO! My doctor, a lovely woman, even gave me this super powerful cough suppressant that is, essentially, supposed to knock me out so that I can get some much-needed sleep that has been sorely lacking the last week. It's been almost two hours since I took my first lovin' spoonful and I'm still awake. Oh, sure, I'm a bit tired and I'm sure most of this post won't make much sense when I go to read it later, but so far I've not felt the tug of dreamland and it's making me a mite cranky.

And, wonder of wonders, I've got a bit of a fever and I'm very warm. You'd think that'd be a good thing since this is me we're talking about and I am perpetually chillled but, oh no, being overwarm just means that I'm having an even more difficult time getting comfy for the sleep-thing. I'm about to crawl into bed, turn the fan on high and point it in my direction and see if maybe, just maybe, the heaviness my eyelids are finally experiencing will yield the comforting results of a good night's sleep.

Let's hope.