I used to really enjoy being sick. All that television, all those people catering to you, all those forgiving cans of Chickarina, mmm.

Growing up sucks. Being sick isn’t fun at all anymore. I’ve somehow gotten bronchial asthma in July, which struck me as odd because I haven’t had asthma in any form since the 7th grade. It also struck me as odd because the doctor decided that I had bronchial asthma within sixteen seconds of not-shaking my hand. But, I’m wheezing, I’ve got a fever that hasn’t totally subsided even after five days, and I’m coughing up steady supplies of backup ammo for the Horde Slime Pit. I guess that sounds like bronchial asthma. Bronchial asthma sounds like a big dinosaur to me, too.

I started feeling the devil’s tickle in my throat late on Thursday, and by the time work was through on Friday, I was hacking like a less agile General Grievous. Come Saturday, I was a wreck. I was kind of looking forward to being down and out this week, but work is so crazybusy that I’ve basically telecommuted for more than my regular office hours. And, since nobody at the office can hear me coughing up blood, I’m not even getting any sympathy awards. This sucks.

On the other hand, being home these last few days has taught me that Master Television still sees fit to air reruns of 227 and Amen from time to time, and finding that out makes not being able to breathe totally worth it.

I’ve also learned that cough drops get really disgusting after the 3rd bag.

PS: The comments thread has morphed into a survey. Talk about the stupidest ways you’ve ever hurt yourself. I mean it.

Posted by Matt. E-mail me!