Monday night I got home just in time to catch the Eddie Guerrero tribute RAW. It was a damn good episode, with no soap opera bullshit, and good matches intercut with various friends reflecting on Eddie. Seeing Chris Benoit completely lose it was surreal. I tried to go to sleep, but I was captivated in a half-awake state. Eddie's gone, and life goes on, and it's just... strange. I don't know. I don't deal with death well, in real life.
I woke up Tuesday and the cold I'd gotten had hit F5 (not Refresh, nerds; I'm talking tornado strength here). It reached the point where phlegm bubbled up into my mouth when I cleared my throat. I tried walking when I got out of bed and fell. Good shit. So I was forced to call out (well, send a text message - talking was not an option) and then slept till noon-ish. Then I woke up, sucked it up, and pushed myself out of bed and into productivity. I now had time in the apartment to myself, so I could do the things I needed to. I began the furniture rearranging, I did laundry (three loads! I AM IRON MAN), and I cleaned, all the while moving like an old school zombie. Later, my girlfriend came over, and I did the only resonable, logical thing - I got drunk with her. You see, with my cold raging, treatment was needed. Vodka is alcohol, and alcohol kills germs. Orange juice is loaded with vitamin C, and that's good for the immune systems. So having several screwdrivers on a near-empty stomach is really the best way to get over a cold. I KNOW MEDICINE. XD
So we got trashed, got pizza, watched Buffy, cuddled, and all that good stuff. Between this and actually getting things done, it was a good Tuesday. And I owe it all to my cold! THANK YOU, AVIAN FLU!