Is This...

A Good Ick or a Bad Ick?

Most decidedly a Bad Ick.

I just got over being sick, and here I am again, snot-locker full of wonderfully colorful excreta dribbling forth in frothy wonder to form a mass upon the upper lip.

Sleep is the sought-after distraction, the holy grail, not of healing, but of relief from care about whether the boogerjuice flow will ever stop. I sought it with such fervor last night that I do believe I suffered a slight overdose: I feel even more stupid than usual this morning.

Seriously, didn't I just get over a bout of Ick? WTF, over? In my opinion, there is little worse than being sick through the holidays, aside from being sick and in hospital and or without friends and family about you...

Ok, I suppose there is quite a bit worse than having a severe head cold through the holidays. And yes, The Coolness is right, men do revert to big babies when ill.

Pass me my binkie, would you?

The Ick Strikes Again, as Does the Dark God

The Ick Strikes:

Lost my voice night before last, then had my head and throat packed with steel wool all day yesterday. I slept 16 out of twenty-four hours. Came in to work today because I would just assume be miserable at work as at home. I cancelled my overtime gig too, which hurts the pocketbook, but I can't be the hypocrite that calls in sick and then works overtime.

The Dark God Visits:
Peter V Brett's The Desert Spear arrived the night before last as well. Shortly followed by a visit from my jealousy, my personal Dark God. Peter has done it again, this time on a greater scale than The Warded Man, and with a character it is even more difficult to like.

I have not finished it yet, partly because of the Ick, but also because The Dark God commands me to draw out the flagellation and suffer in the knowledge that Brett retains and expands on his abilities. He continues to write original story and deomonstrate his exceptional skills at creating characters who live, breathe, and suffer through changes wrought by the world they live in. The Desert Spear is yet another piece of the altar to my Dark God.

Griffin Vs Rats:
As I am ill, I have not been prosecuting the war as I would have normally. The vile clan of rats goes unpunished. Soon I shall rise again, and reduce their numbers nightly.

Rats Gaining...

Griffin 5, Rats 4

The rats managed to infiltrate and abscond with the bait yet again. It may be time to change tactics. I remain confident that sooner or later the ring-leaders shall perish, and their will to continue the infamy of these unprovoked attacks broken.

Ick:

My allergies have caused a raw throat and sore sinuses. I fear another illness coming on.

Writing:

Yesterday I managed to crank a page on The Last Captain. It has been a while between blogging, 93 Games Studio writing, RPoL, kid's soccer, work, and the rat war. I think it good.

The Ick, and Other News

I am feeling much better, and woke this morning without any additional rocks in my head than my brain. I had the heat off, which seemed to help. Hot dry air = bad Griffin sinuses.

My mother-in-law is in hospital with some kind of scare we are trying to figure out, and has spent the night in hospital under observation.

In related news: (pun intended) one of my wife's great-uncles died recently and a significant portion of the family can't be bothered to put their bullshit aside to pay their proper respects, so I will be a pall-bearer on Wednesday when he is laid to rest. As I am the only tall guy among my wife's short maternal relatives, it shall be an uneven ride that he is sure to smile at from wherever he will be observing (He was a six footer too).

I liked him a lot, though I only met him once. A veteran and good man. I shall miss the opportunity to get to know him better.

My mom is fine, as is my dad, brother and his family. My mom is now officially bionic, having had total knee replacement. Apprently she's chasing the cat and trying to trip the dog in a revenge trip.

The dog must have eaten something bad, because he keeps trying to hurl and hasn't bothered me to go out.

The cat is still a murderous bastard.

I am still tired of all the stupid people, who appear to be breeding a race of even more stupid people.

Oh, and I had an exceptional laugh this weekend, thanks to my buddy Rob:

He ripped one, a rather virulent one at that. Everyone noticed the foulness and let him know their disgust.

Once we were all wearing our smelled something bad faces, he asked, "What? Don't you like my ass molecules?"

I joined a chorus of, "What?"

He wiggled the fingers of his right hand in front of his nose, "Don't you like knowing those molecules came from inside my ass?"

Then there were two reasons to have tears flowing from our eyes.

Sick like dog

I am currently fighting the latest cold my daughter brought home.

Snot fills my cranium like green jello in a clouded bowl, my throat feels as if I was drinking paint thinner, and I'm a bit feverish. I am certainly impatient with the bullshit going on in front of me.

People, please stop trying to use the same excuses over and over again, especially after you just watched the three people in front of you lose based on the same faulty reasoning. It does you no good, and you don't score points behaving like a lemming and leaping off in pursuit of those who went before you...

Time to dose. Theraflu is my friend.

The Ick

The ick hath struck. Last week I got the H1N1 vaccination. Now I'm running a fever and can feel the hole at the top of my throat where the cells are immolating in order to fight off infection. I am pretty sure I don't have the flu, just a nasty cold exacerbated by last week's hell-hath-frozen-over ride (Just 28 degrees before windchill and bay fog).

I must get better, and fast. Of course it had to be my throat, which I need in order to speak to the oral board this Friday.

Needless to say, I am not working tomorrow. Once done with this entry, I am taking several tylonol PMs and passing out. I will take my daughter to school tomorrow and repeat the process.

Sleep is for the weak. And I am weak, the now.