I'm fighting a cold. My nose is all chapped from Kleenex, and I can't smell a thing. Which is good, because that means I can't smell all the stuff I have to clean off today. But it's also bad, because it means I'll be boxing up stuff I think smells okay but really still reeks of burning plastic and smoke.
This sickness is making it's rounds at work, everyone has been fighting it, and it's making us all grumpy. Only now there's the ones who had it first and are all better now. Now that they've passed on their evil infectious germs they're all happy and bubbly and full of false sympathy for your ailment. grr
And these boys at work don't seem to understand that I'm sick. I'm sick, dammit, and grumpy. Don't I look sick? Don't I sound sick? Doesn't the fact that all my m's sound like b's tip you off? The glazed over look in my eye, the zombie-like stare? The continual drip from my nose? The phelgmy cough? Stop asking me out! No, I don't want to watch a movie with you, I want to go to bed, I want to drown my sorrows in Tylenol Cold & Flu. I just want to sleep until I'm better. I don't want to have to sit in the dark worrying about whether you're going to try make a move on me. Leave me alone.