Titles are so bothersome.

I do not often have moments when I wish I wasn’t single. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. Often I’ll be hearing about a friend’s boyfriend problems and think to myself, “My life is so uncomplicated as a single person.” I only have myself to worry about, and that’s how I like it. And that is not just because I am very, very bitter and cynical.

Last week, however, when I had 101 degree fever accompanied with chills and feelings of impending death (completely with a sensation that my head would soon fall off) I really wished I didn’t live alone so that I could send someone to go get me soup and something to shoot myself with. Sadly, I haven’t trained the dog to do such things. We’re working on it. When you’re not single does it mean you have someone to get you soup? So far that’s the only benefit I’m seeing. Maybe I just need a roommate. Or more friends who live close by.

Anyway, my half marathon training has been put slightly on hold because of the brief adventure into the world of antibiotics and mass amounts of Kleenex. But I plan to be back in fighting shape as of tomorrow. The half marathon training plans I found on Google still seem to think I can manage it in six weeks, so if they say so I suppose it must be true. Google does know everything, right? I’ll be slowly increasing my long runs from 7 miles (where I’m at now) to 11 miles by the time the half marathon rolls around, and training about 14 miles a week besides that. Really that’s what I’m doing now anyway, so as long as I keep going I should be in good shape. Also, the whole sickness thing better remove itself from my body ASAP. I have no patience for illness.

As a result of this lovely illness, I called in sick for only the second time in over two years at my current job. It led to me only working two days last week! Crazy. I watched a lot of daytime television in a feverish state and forced the dog to cuddle with me (she needs her alone time, usually, but I told her that doesn’t apply when I’m dying. Cause I talk to my dog).

Today I was sitting in my office when one of the local “crack heads” came in. I refer to him as a crack head because A) I’m pretty sure he literally is on crack and B) it just seems like a good descriptor. He comes in pretty frequently to visit with my boss, and he also annoys me to no end. I wish he would just go away. Today we had a lovely conversation when he chose to sit in my section of the office and drink coffee.

CrackHead: Do you have any sugar?
Me: No, we used it all and no one ever bought more.
CH: (looking at me like I was crazy) You don’t use sugar?
Me: Nope.
CH: (looking at me like I was crazy and a liar) You don’t eat sweets?
Me: Not usually.
CH: What is your diet like then?
Me: Um, lots of fruits and veggies… (wondering to myself why I was even answering this question)
CH: Well what do you do besides sit at the computer all day? All I ever see you do is run that machine!
Me: (starting to ignore him and thinking to myself, “Well, that is part of my job…”)

This all made me start to think that curling into a ball of sickness and misery on my couch and watching a lot of “Rachel Ray” is preferable to my office at times. How on earth do I end up attracting the crazies that think its okay to judge me and question my diet and exercise habits? Seriously, I do. Just cause I’m overweight is it impossible to believe that I don’t eat much sugar?

And so what if I do eat sugar? It’s my body. I don’t judge him for ingesting copious amounts of crack, do I?

Just remember kids, crack is whack. Nothing rhymes with sugar in that way, now does it?