Working over sixteen hours with this cold/flu thing on Friday made me realize that, though Jesus supposedly loves everyone, he doesn’t like me very much. Nope.

I’m also, apparently, a sucker who can’t be rude to people that sufficiently deserve it. Worked with LJ that night and, though I had ample opportunity to put him in his place, I was actually…*shudder*…nice to him. In fact, I have been so nice to him that I have led him to believe that it’s ok to get all cute and tickly with me, and though my core reaction was to grab something hot and pointy and beat him with it, I laughed and walked away.

Hmph.

I weaseled out of work again on Saturday night not, as one might suppose, to go out drinking, but rather to stay home and bemoan my sickly fate. I watched about four terrible chick movies between naps, got out of bed only to eat and take the dogs out, and woke Sunday morning still feeling crappy but unable to spend any more time working on bed sores. I woke early, cleaned my squalid house, and went to the grocery store.

And that was my weekend. Exciting, I know.

This morning I indulged in some cuddles with my Valentines (the four-legged variety), and bought myself a $5 coffee in celebration not of this cheesy holiday but in celebration that, praise heaven, February is half over. I really hate February.