I have shingles. And I don’t mean the roofing kind.
Because my life isn’t hectic enough, last week I felt like crud for a few days. I had a school event this past weekend and was up to my eyeballs in meetings and such last week, too. In fact, last week was one of the busiest EVER. Something every night of the week. Naturally, that meant I felt like I was getting the flu for about five days straight. I figured I was coming down with it since The Guy I Live With had it the week before.
And you know, we have to outdo each other on stuff like that.
But after five days of feeling like crud, I woke up and it felt like I had scratches all over my chest. And when I felt them, well, they felt like pimples. But they itched. But if I touched them it hurt like a mofo.
Do you know what a mofo hurts like? Kinda like a thousand needles stabbing you all at once. THE MORE YOU KNOW.
Anyways, I was smaht enough to get my arse right to the doctor and get it checked and as expected, SHINGLES! TADA! I know how to do it right, yo. I can’t just have a virus, I must have a really sh*tty one. One that hurts and itches and makes me feel lousy.
The good news? They gave me good drugs. And they help me not feel like crud. And honestly, shingles aren’t THAT bad. Except for the part where I am crawling out of my skin and want to stab someone basically ALL DAY LONG.
Yes. They suck.
And the meds? Well, they make me sleepy and I seem to have lost cognitive ability. As in, I cannot seem to put two coherent thoughts together. Or two sentences. Or heck, two words. In other words, I have absosmurfly no ability to do anything that requires brain function. Like blogging and writing. Or planning. Or going to the next room and remembering why I went there in the first place.
I know, I know. It’s my body’s way of saying SLOW THE EFF DOWN MUTHA TRUCKA.
And the docs and what not all tell me I need to be less stressed out and relax. And rest a ton.
Because THAT is so easy to do with what I have going on.
If you believe that I have a fabulous business deal in Nigeria that I require your assistance with.
PS – if you really love me and want to make me feel better, help a sista out and go read my stuffs at Aiming Low. Especially the current one because I worked my arse off on that and I’m a delicate flower and I’ll cry if no one likes it. And you don’t want to see me cry, right? Of course you don’t. So go read it.