The ides of march hit me particularly hard this year. I am not a fan.
My car got stolen. I got it back and instantly became horrifically ill.
This is the cycle I go through every time I get sick:
1. I think I'm coming down with something
2. I think that I can fend it off with vitamin C, tea, and workouts that I should not be doing.
3. I think I'm dying. I think sadly of all of the nothing that I will never do. I text Meghan to remind her to throw me a wake once I am dead and that under no circumstances should my funeral be open-casket. I regret that I have never done any magic.
4. I think that I will probably never be well again and spend the rest of my life breathing wheezily, wearing an eye patch and being accompanied by a three legged dog. Though I no longer believe that I will die, I am now convinced that I will spend the rest of my life in a slightly ill state.