While hacking up a lung as I was preparing to leave work, one of my managers asked if I was okay, and I stated the obvious: “No, I’m sick.”

“Damn, girl. I didn’t figure you to be so sickly!”

I used to be able to argue with this. Seven months ago, I hadn’t had more than an irritating cold since the beginning of freshman year, when I had a really, really nasty bout of bronchitis.

Since the first of the year, I’ve had two surgeries, my first migrane, a couple of really nasty colds (including the one I have right now) and a frickin’ ear infection.

I’d never taken a sick day in my life until right before graduation…well, not counting starting work two weeks late due to acute appendicitis. Now I’d probably be considered a hypochondriac were I not actually sick so much.

I still have my Seinfeldian non-vomit streak going (current length: 12 years), but that’s my last claim to my iron constitution, and I fear it may fade fast.

I’m really hoping that part of this is the Universe getting back at me for not getting out of Chicago and getting a real job when I graduated, but I guess I’ll only find that out when I get to L.A. and see if I can make it more than a couple of weeks without getting ill.

Blah. I’m going to go chug my NyQuil and go to bed.

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