J is sick. And not your normal, run-of-the-mill sick. Fever, cough, aches, pains, sore throat, phlegm, etc... It's obviously the plague. He's been out of work since Tuesday; luckily I have been working from home this week and have been able to act as nurse. Though I fear he is not getting much better; at least he has not gotten any worse. He barely wants to eat; and I have offered to watch Ravenous - a strange movie that he lurves - about a zillion times, and he just shakes his head sadly and stares at me with those lovely, glassy eyes. Sometimes he moans a little. The poor, poor dear.
This morning I ushered him to our doctor's office, fearing pneumomia. Alas, it is but an ordinary plague that will last at least another four days. I asked Doc if I was in the clear, to which she replied merrily: "No, you'll get sick later."
I am warding off the bug by reveling in my stupidity; also known as "studying" for the GMATs. I use the term "studying" loosely, as I have been reading the book and totally acing the "how-to" problems. Then I attempt to take a practice test, and my brain melts and I bang my head against the table and curse stupid geometry and Ms. Marano because I didn't understand in the tenth grade and I still don't fucking get it. I jot down all of the formulas I can remember and then I cry softly at the dining room table, and shout at my sick friend, "What is the formula for area of a rectangle?!?" And duh. If you don't know the area of a rectangle, you have no business going to graduate school.
Also - ladies? No advice on my wedding gown? Is this your way of telling me I am fucked? Or are you just tired of my infrequent posting and trying to make a statement?
I love you all. May you never see the horrors of this plague.