It's one of those "nasty enough that you feel you should be entitled to whine, so you check your temperature and you're almost disappointed that you don't have a fever" virii. Exhaustion, headache, that light touch of nausea that doesn't actually impede dining, random chills, aches, sore throat, in roughly descending order of severity.
I'm not good for a hell of a lot today, but I'm ambulatory enough to pick up my kid via the subway and buy necessaries, so injections of pity should probably be saved for more deserving patients. Especially since the impurity scandal at that pity factory in England. Apparently it was laced with schadenfreude.
... And here's today's reward
for reading through Tom's extremely boring exercise in superman-complex talk therapy. (Be sure to read the comments.) Those who were already reading tongodeon
in August might want to look at this just barely unsafe for work
pinup of Marilyn Monroe-contemporary Jeanne Carmen instead.