It’s good that I’m not sick often. I’m a boring, whiney sick person. Here me whine, oh world, oh web.

I tried to rally twice this week to meet up with some comedy things. Both times I went home feeling limp and ragged and tired. But, between the holidays and going away and not planning much while my bathroom privileges were under question, I felt like I hadn’t seen a bunch of people in approximately eons.

Then, there’s the non-comic, real world sector with whom I had ambitiously planned to mingle at this the start of 2005. All that’s blown to shit as I ponder my mortality, victim of something viral, but I know not what. (By the way, what the fuck is the difference that makes you say, “It’s the flu?” Is it a matter of degree, separating your shitty feelings from a mere cold? I’m thinking it’s a shade of drama, in which case, I assuredly have the plague.)

Also by the way, you know those magazine stories about indomitable human spirit in the face of adversity? I’m crumpling like a little girl up against Iron Mike Tyson in the second round from a rhinovirus or some shit, so you won’t be reading that uplifting crap around here. My human spirit is eminently domitable.

The sun-shiney, bright, silver lining in all of this inactivity? Plenty of fucking time to stare at my resume and contemplate what a boring, fucking life I’ve led and what the fuck do I want to be when I grow up. Is it necessary for me to even state–I don’t want a fucking job. (But, man haven’t I gotten used to food, clothing and shelter over the years.)