I’m sick. Like, not super-sick. I have a runny nose and an achy throat and I’m coughing up blood and guts—okay, just phlegm. But phlegm isn’t sexy; blood is sexy.
Anyway, I’m gross inside and outside, and luckily the weather has matched my mood.
There’s actually a word for it: the “pathetic fallacy.” It’s a literary tool. Cue joke: “You’re a literary tool.” But it actually is.
Side note: Fallacy isn’t a funny word. The Pathetic Phallusy sounds like a group of depressed men. Do you get it? Because…penis. But anyway, I’m sick, and when I’m sick, I get really weird.
I’m already a weird person—don’t you hate it when regular people are like “Oh, I’m so weird! I’m, like, so quirky—but when I get sick, it gets worse. I tweeted multiple times about genitals—*cough* @thedanosaurus *cough*—and while that is very much on brand, it lacked my special dose of finesse.
Also I embarrassed myself in front of a cute human.
I was getting a sandwich at the dining hall, and the cute sandwich guy was there.
Cute Sandwich Guy: What can I get you?
Me (Human Potato): Could I get egg salad on sourdough, with lettuce and—what is that?—pepper jack?
CSG: Yeah sure.
(makes sandwich—puts on too much lettuce, but that’s neither here nor there)
CSG: How are you today?
HP: I’m good. Sick though.
CSG: Oh yeah me too.
HP: Yeah, it seems like everyone is getting sick.
HP: So unfortunate. I guess I better stop making out with people.
(gives me my sandwich)
CSG: (says nothing, just smiles).
WHAT AM I SAYING
Why do I keep making uncomfortable jokes to attractive men? It’s a nervous tic. Other nervous tics: making jokes about slavery, and biting my nails. Only one of these things is mildly appropriate, and hint: IT’S NOT THE SLAVERY ONE.
When I get sick, I also dress like a lumberjack. I was wearing some gnarly, orthopedic hiking shoes, and I was into it. Today, it was an uphill battle with myself to try and not wear track pants.
Half of my brain: I’ll wear real pants today.
Other half: But will you? Will you really? You’re too weak to do zippers. Just wear track pants. Give in.
First Half: Omg you’re so right.
I’m wearing joggers, but THE STRIFE IN MY LIFE IS REAL. Hopefully I get better soon, because with the weather and this phlegm, there is a very real possibility that I will just become a couch in a few more days.
I’ve also been drinking enough tea to make the entire country of England piss their pants. The other day, I added too much honey accidentally, and it was just Lipton-flavored heated honey.
But being sick is kind of fun. I get to have a bona fide excuse for lying in my bed and watching The Originals. I mean, I didn’t need one before. But it’s nice to have a reason. It stops people from wondering if I ever go outside. SPOILER ALERT: No comment.