What happens when you plan your beach wardrobe more than 2 weeks in advance, buy a couple new swimsuits and additional accessories (and almost losing your cellphone in the process), spend about half your grocery money on sunblock?
You get a stinking viral infection that puts you on house arrest for 4 days. Worse, the virus doesn’t seem to have an exit plan up to this time.
Seriously. Is this another one of your cosmic jokes?? Hello??
Still determined to beat the virus, I finally gathered whatever strength is left of my body. Armed with meds, vitamins and energy drink, I managed to get myself to the office, hoping the change in environment will scare the virus away.
Besides, I have a theory that if there’s other people to infect, the virus will be more than happy to leave my body. Whether or not my theory is right is already moot, though. I’ve conceded defeat this time, and raised the white flag.
No more Galera this weekend. Bah.
Maybe I should have listened to R when he asked me to go home this week. Which he happily pointed out to me when I was complaining that I was going crazy yesterday because my internet went down and I had no one to talk to. I actually started singing in gibberish and started doing impressions. Ohmigod. Hahaha.