Well, it was a good run, but it's over.
I'm sick. Waaah. And being a big baby about it. Oh, it's just a little cold. Feels like a fast-moving one, too--I didn't even get that tell-tale preview sore throat. I just started feeling really weird yesterday afternoon after my productive morning of preparing a Crock Pot dinner and sweating out two hours at the gym.
What is this feeling? So thirsty. So tired. So much lethargy in the limbs. I guess this is what getting old feels like...
I guess not. By 3:00 I was sneezing and stuffed, and last night's 90 minute blocking rehearsal which otherwise would have been a total lark felt like a week in steerage, me standing there shivering, glaze-eyed, clutching my increasingly more pathetic scraps of tissue and trying not to revolt everyone around me. By some convenient miracle I am now off until Saturday, so I can stay here and torment David instead.
I was the Diva of Sniffles when I got home. "I'll need some of that Gypsy Cold Care tea, steeped ten minutes, with honey. Put the tissues near the TV, please. And how about warming me up some dinner?" That good man puts up with a lot.
So, the run: more than an entire YEAR. I did not sniffle in 2011. And now I've gotten out of practice. "How do people do this?" I whined. "With the not breathing?"
I guess I'm getting a refresher course. Part of the job. But I liked my smug "Don't cough on me. Don't even breathe on me" outsider status better.