So I'm still sick, even though I feel a tiny bit better. Only my cold has progressed to my nose, which is never a good thing. And now I sound like a chain-smoking transexual who sings bass.
I did, though, turn in the two pieces of work that were due today. Rejoice with me! And now I'm working on a 2,000 word essay about the history of women in librarianship (Alternate title: "How The Man is keeping us down!"). This would have been a piece of cake back when I was an undergrad and in the habit of churning out essays, but now I am all rusty an' junk.
Then sweet WR is coming over to take care of me and look over the website I have to finish by Friday, becase he is lovely. I am, of course, v. excited to see WR and to have attention and orange juice and Christmas movies, but I'm not sure how much he will enjoy his evening with a sickly mouth-breather. I can just see it now:
Me, trying to look alluring: "So . . . coughhackcough . . . wadda cub over an' sit odd byy side of the couch?"
WR: "Um, do you need some tissues? Here, let me go get some."
Me: "Doe, doe, stay here! I'b fide!"
Then I will lean in to kiss him, and he will pull back, alarmed.
WR: "Errrrrr. . . can't we just just, like, cuddle?"
Me: "Whad! Are you sayig you don' want subba this?" coughhackchokecoughsniffffle
WR: "Ah . . . not at the moment, no."
Oh yeah.
Ibe too sexy.
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