Nada

I am sick. I tried to pretend that I'm not but I am. Actually, I'm still trying to pretend that I'm not sick so we'll see how that goes. I know exactly when I picked up the bug: it was on the Boston to Denver flight. Ergh.

Um, waited around until 5 o'clock today because the sign in the elevator said that we had to let the alarm people in to check the fire alarms. Yeah. No one came and a friend asked me for coffee and I told her no, I had to sit at home with my thumb up my ass for an indeterminate length of time.

Then I fell asleep on my couch and woke up around 4 or something because I was snoring. Sexy.

Then I put on my bright yellow Boston shirt and almost blinded myself so I put on a short sleeved top over top to try and mute it and went for a 10k run and was surprised at how much my quadriceps hurt. I guess I'm not done repairing myself yet.

What I'm really driving at is that I have post-marathon depression and am sexually frustrated. The two are not mutually exclusive.