Cave Dweller

Remember that scene from When Harry Met Sally where Sally has just learned that her ex-boyfriend (Joe) has decided to get married to someone else?

She's wearing a long (pink?) housecoat, her hair resembles a nuclear mushroom cloud and her face is bright red from crying so hard.

She walks around her apartment with a box of tissues under her arm, and after using them crumples them up and throws them on the ground. She is just too sad to bend over and pick them up, or walk over to the garbage can.

That's how I am feeling this week.

However, my inability to throw used up tissues anywhere but the ground is derived from my cold, instead of sadness.

I hate being sick because I just sit around the house thinking of all the other stuff I have to get done. I can't even enjoy my time off.

Plus I don't shower and slowly become surrounded my towering piles of used tissue. The runny snot becomes a type of motar between the tissue-ball rocks and I find myself encased in a Kleenex-built sarcophagus.

Luckily, the ear doctor comes over to check up on me and deliver supplies which he carefully balances on a long pole. Then, he sticks the pole-balanced-cherry flavored ricola cough drops through the small food hole I intentionally created in my tissue tomb for this purpose. I wheeze my appreciation and he knows he is loved.