The honey jar is not a metaphor...at least not right now.

I'm still sick, and I'm definitely not saying I need a MAN to open this stuck jar of honey to put in my tea. But I AM saying I'd blow someone if they opened it, and men tend to be a little more receptive to that exchange rate. 

Putting the "surge" in "resurgence."

The bad news is, I am sick as fuck.

The good news is, depending on the minute, I either sound like Sick Phoebe singing her sultry version of "Smelly Cat" on Friends, or like I could successfully supplement my income by taking a side gig as a phone sex operator. (Is phone sex even still a thing? Probably not. I'm behind the porn ball. No, wait... Ew... But I could totally bring it back. Like flannel shirts. Porny ones...)

Right. So clearly I should be keeping an eye on my temperature, because delirium is setting in.

No one's looking at my face today.

I woke up sick, and literally the only thing getting me out of bed is the plans I had that provide higher-than-average odds for meeting and mingling with sexy nerd boys. 

Thankfully no one I really want to hang out with would care if I do my hair and put on makeup -- just a low-cut shirt should cover it. (Or not, I suppose is the point.)