It’s 8:37 in the morning and I am awake. I generally do not wake up for work until around 10 or 11. I’ve been up since 6:02. This sickness is going to end up killing me. Or I will end up killing everyone at work today when I spread my virus of doom. I’m out of sick days. There is no option.
I made a decision on Thursday that I was going to use November to write every day. It’s been quite awhile since the last time I did this and it also happens to correspond with NaNoWriMo, which I think has the most obnoxious name of anything. I’ve also decided that I won’t use my daily blog post to whine or say, “Hey, look at this picture of Misha Collins. I’m going to bed.”
I started reading Jenny Blake’s book, “Life After College” the Saturday night when I was awake for 30 hours because Prednisone does not let me sleep. I now have about half of a composition notebook filled with how I’m going to get my life together career-wise and financially. I also have half of a composition notebook filled. Did I mention that? Whoever fills up half of a composition notebook? Maybe I’m the only one who writes on like five pages and then buys a new one. I don’t know.
Today also starts the official diet day for me and one of my coworkers. It’s my last day of being on the ‘sone, so hopefully I can stop shoving my face full poptarts and other crap constantly. At least I don’t look like I have two softballs in my neck anymore, I guess. I can’t workout right now. I’m not allowed for a few weeks until my spleen isn’t so swollen. I don’t know how I’m going to do this, but it’s going to happen. Especially after seeing pictures of me in my Halloween costume. Dear God.
So, here we go. Day 1. See you tomorrow.