I'd feel a lot better. Honestly. What I thought were just symptoms from the flu shot has transgressed into the virus from hell. I can't breath, swallow, speak, or sleep. My throat is the size of a pin hole.

It's not the feeling lousy that gets to me -- it's the sounding like the bag of organs that's making me crazy. ("Bag of organs" is an endearing nickname I had (thanks Robyn) for a former resident hypochondriac who shall remain nameless. I actually know several people like this -- but this one in particular has never had a well day in her life.)

Usually, I don't get sick like this -- not since I stopped working in NYC and didn't have to ride on those steel tube Petri dishes, also known as the subway and Metro North Railroad. My sister thinks I probably caught this lovely virus at the gym on Tuesday. I'm pretty good about thoroughly wiping down the equipment after I use it, but not everyone else is. And who knows what kinds of bacteria and virii get left behind in the pools of sweat. Since no one else in my office has this (that I know of) I can't blame the flu shot. But I will not rest until I find the Typhoid Mary bitch who gave me this. (I know it wasn't you, Dan, no matter what Robyn says. ;)

I'm really frustrated because I was really looking forward to my weekly Saturday morning flag football game, and I can't go. Thankfully, I hear it's being videotaped, so I can at least watch it. There is nothing funnier than watching grown women play football and basketball. Believe me -- this won't be the first time we've been taped in action. (OK, OK, insert clever, sexual comment here) Two weeks ago I was almost stripped of my sweat pants -- they were half way down my legs, but fortunately, I was wearing my boxers (no tighty whitey for me). I threatened to go commando the next time, as incentive for my pals to avoid grabbing anything in the lower region. Hussies.