My nose isn’t running. It’s engaged in a carefully planned tactical retreat.

Fevered thoughts:
To work or not to work. I don’t see how I can possibly go to work tomorrow. I feel like total crap. Every sneeze makes my head feel like someone’s shot me from the grassy knoll – back, and to the left, back, and to the left. I don’t see how the hell I’m going to get any sleep tonight. And yet if I don’t go in tomorrow, I can’t pick up the paycheck I wasn’t able to pick up on Friday. Worse yet, between snow and adventures in the emergency room, I only worked one day last week, and not even a full day at that. The place where I’m working right now is so tiny that it operates on an “if you don’t show up, you don’t get paid” system. At that rate I might as well be working from home already – I can sit around and edit video in this state, but answer phones? Don’t think so. And yet my not being able to get my check on Friday already has us in the hole. All of this scares the crap out of me when it comes to the impending arrival of a third human being in the house. As if the state of the house itself wasn’t already scaring me for that reason.
I missed the Super Bowl, but I am watching the Puppy Bowl. Might as well confiscate my testes now, what kinda red-blooded American male does that? 😆 Seriously, since I can’t sleep and I’m still up doing laundry and working on the site and a video assignment, I’ve got the replay of the Animal Planet Puppy Bowl on. As much as I love the little camera at the bottom of the water bowl, that Puppy Bowl (and the Kitten Halftime Show) kinda creeps me out a little bit. I doubt very much the animals are being mistreated, but there’s just something about it that makes me look at it askance, sorta like “would these animals be in that room, under those lights, doing those things if they didn’t have to be?” Then I get to wondering why Oberon tries to run out of the house if a door’s left open just a little too long, and the whole free will thing bugs me even more coming from the other direction. I’m hoping I can chalk this whole philosophical dilemma up to being sick as hell, but if watching a bunch of frolicking kitties and puppies on TV puts me in this state of mind, I’m not gonna survive having to raise a critter with two legs. Then again, I’ve heard enough about my utter unsuitability as a potential parent from some corners that I’ve probably got a reservoir of doubt built up.
On that cheerful note, I think I’m gonna finish my hot chocolate, chase it down with some Nyquil, and maybe actually get some sleep.