Tomorrow, without fail, no matter what, come hell or high water, come rain or come shine, I’m going out and forcing myself to pretend I’m feeling fabulous even if I’m not.
I’ve had it with the NyQuil and the naps. A trial packet of DayQuil keeps looking over its bare shoulder, batting its eyelashes and winking at me, but I won’t have any of it. Goodbye, seductress. You’re just a no-good tease like all the rest. You promise great things, yet when push comes to shove, lady, you’re just a shy little virgin, like Children’s Tylenol. (Oh, and by the way, whoever’s responsible for taste tests or whatever they do over at the Tylenol factory/lab/kindergarten kitchenette, should be fired for daring to call the product’s flavor “grape”. I know it doesn’t really taste like grapes, but come on. It should at least taste fake grape, like a purple Fred Flintstone, and not like bile.) (And don’t ask why I even tried Children’s Tylenol in the first place.)
So anyway. That’s it. I’ve had it. Tomorrow I resume my morning chants with my brothers and sisters of the Universe at the yoga studio regular routine. Tomorrow I’m back at the gym at 8:00 a.m., where I’m sure to be met with a whole pack of new jackasses who resolved four days ago to finally get in shape but who will abandon the resolution by month’s end when they realize that the weight that took years to amass on their frames won’t take four weeks to disappear.
I’ve been so out of it that I haven’t even been able to fully hate people with all the joie de vivre such hatred deserves. But don’t worry, come tomorrow, fresh off a multi-mile run on the treadmill, I hope to be back in full force and effect.
Thanks, by the way, to all of the lovely people who sent email full of “get well soon” sentiment. You I don’t hate.
See you bañana. I’ve got a dayful of Lifetime to accomplish.