I'm Not Sure They Make Courtrooms Big Enough, But I'd Like To File Charges Anyway

I'm fairly certain that sometime last night, around 4 a.m., a Mack truck sneaked up the stairs and rolled right over me. I'm not sure how it fit, or how it managed to not leave tire tracks, but I'm pretty sure the way I've felt since then is sufficient evidence to stand up in court.

I was supposed to teach VBS this week with some friends, and you can imagine how well it would have gone if I had driven in a snotty stupor all the way over there and stumbled into the room, hacking germs all over the precious 4th graders waiting to learn more about Jesus. I think I'll be passing for the time being. Maybe by Wednesday.

So I spent the day on the couch, alternatively huddling beneath blankets and sprawling about all but panting, wishing I could just strip down to my skivvies. Not sure how much my brother would have enjoyed that, so it was a no go. I rotted a few brain cells today with all that fabulous TV that plays on weekdays, including Funniest Wedding Outtakes and Spy Kids 2: The Island of Lost Dreams. How, I wonder, does one of the cheesiest, most poorly written kids' movies I've ever had the dubious pleasure of watching land the services of A-list actors? I'm assuming the producer knows about some skellingtons in their closets, because I'm at a loss for explanations otherwise. Did you know that George Clooney himself is in Spy Kids 3?!? (And how do I know this? Because I actually sat through the commercials on that kid channel, people. My fingers hurt too much to press buttons on the remote. At least, that's my story, and I'm stickin' to it.)

I did discover one of the tin linings (because I really don't think I can find the silver) in being separated: since the kidlets are with their father until Wednesday, I didn't have to deal with them while feeling halfway to Death's door. And my sweet brother (I have mentioned how saintly he is before, right?) went on a shopping expedition to buy me ibuprofen and orange juice and tomato soup and rainbow sherbet. About fifteen minutes ago he also brought me hot tea and a bowl of said sherbet--granted, I asked him for the services, but he did them with a smile.

I am now debating whether or not it's worth it to crawl in the shower to rinse off all the ick that accumulates in a day on the couch, or if I should just wait until morning. Hmmm...choices, choices. Nyquil is definitely in my future, I can tell you that much.

Let's hope the 3/4 gallon of OJ I chugged today brings healing my way. Oh, and I suppose a few well-wishes and prayers might help too.

(On a completely unrelated note, other than a commenter just asked a question on a previous post and didn't leave an email to which I could respond: I don't publicize my WoW server for the simple reason that I have a squad of students who are bound and determined to find me there, and I am equally bound and determined not to let them. The only info I hand out is that I am a night elf hunter--I know, right? But I started in beta!--and am on one of the oldest servers because, hey, I started in beta.)