WHINE! I'm sick, still, worse. WHINE! I'm at work, acting as the Branch Chief and Division Director so I can't even call out sick. WHINE! I'm doing drugs, but not antibiotics. I feel awful. WHINE! Soon I go home and...I dunno, microwave anything, drink mint tea, and wrap myself in blankets until I vanish. Bleah.
In one of the Anne Rice trash novels, before she went all wacky religious, there is a scene where a fresh vampire (Lestat?) crawls through a sea of rotting corpses. They note that there is no concern, no grossing out, as he can no longer be affected by disease. I feel the same way right now - sure someone might have touched that doorknob - but what am I worried about? I am already sick. Fear me, for it is I that bears the curse. I cannot shed it, but I can share it without lightening my load...
Today I have lake champlain chocolates likely at my door - only I won't eat them because I won't taste them. Can't even enjoy sin when you're sick.