No, really.

Yesterday morning I woke up and felt like absolute hell. My throat was sore, and I coughed like I was a smoker in a previous life. I got to work at 9:30 (!) and sat at my desk with a super-dee-duper-vitamin-C-enriched-so-much-it�ll-send-ebola-a�quiverin� Jamba Juice in-hand when my boss approached.

�Geez. You look like hell. Hungover?�

�No. I have SARs.�

�Don�t breathe on me, and drink your Jamba for some nutrition. Now let me show you this new database...�

I�m pretty sure she really did think I was hungover. I would have thought so too had I seen myself only an hour later.

My breathing abilities came back, the hacking stopped, and I quietly sucked a rootbeer-flavored cough drop just in case my throat was a little scratchy. (What can I say? The Walgreen�s/Dad�s Rootbeer cough drops taste goooood...)

[NOTE: We here at The Adventures of ChicagoJo do not condone ingesting anything for purposes other than those listed on the back of the labels. Yes, that�s right. Put the spray paint and plastic bag down.]

I headed to my first �meeting� of the day and ate some cake while listening to my second line manager go �blah blah budget, blah blah reporting, blah blah workity-work-work-work,� and then I skipped rather merrily to my second �meeting� and told me third line manager about how I got my job working for the Bears (I�m slated to start on 09/29, BTW) and drank Miller Lite on the company�s tab.

I walked home to get ready to go out with a coworker and his fianc�, and as soon as I stepped in the apartment my throat went all sticky again and my cough reappeared.

Something somewhere is doing something, and I�d really like it to stop.

So when Hambone woke me up at 6:15 this morning, I took advantage of the extra time and cleaned up the apartment a bit. With what I did this morning, I should be able to dust, sweep, and mop tomorrow afternoon.

Ya know, if the SARs doesn�t get to me by then. �