With Matching Spats On Their Little Paws

Today saw the first major casualty of my now full blown illness. Instead of working out over my lunch break, as I had planned to, I'm working through and nursing a serious NyQuil hangover from last night. I haven't even been able to take any more medicine for fear that I'll pass out or go hallucinogenic or something. I'm having enough trouble at work right now. I don't need to start ranting about the walls melting and the floor being covered in multicolored mice wearing vests. Always, always with those damned, tiny vests.

Anyways, I packed up my gym bag this morning with every intention of working out, but it's not going to happen. Right now, I want nothing more than to be home in bed. I'm not sure I'd even play video games. I think today is more of a hide under the covers watching bad television day.

The thing is, when this happens, part of me feels like I'm copping out. I really should take it easy, but I find so many creative reasons not to work out that the genuine ones feel faked. Silly, but true.

Ah well, at least I've got a mountain of work to take my mind off of feeling crummy. Hopefully the NyQuil will wear off before I go home and I can at least hang out with the family without being completely spaced out. Somehow I don't think they appreciate how I've perfected the "I'm not feeling good" thousand yard stare when they're trying to tell me a story.