Good grief

When it rains, it pours.

Last week, my doctor told me I had tendonitis in my right knee, and that the best way to heal it would be to walk on crutches. The very next day, I came down with a doozy of a head cold, which is still beating me up this very moment. Normally, my 3L tendencies (read: apathy, nonchalance) wouldn't have let these developments wear me down. But sometime last month I decided I needed to do something else with my time than, say, bake stuff.

So I signed up for my law school's annual musical, a small stage production that parodies law school and all its nonsense. I figured the extra activity and stimulation would preserve what little brain matter I still had that hadn't yet atrophied.

But then my knee decided to stop working, and my nose and throat decided to perform their own disgusting experiments. Apparently, my body objects to what little constructive activity there is in a law school stage production. So instead of having fun with silly activity, I'm stressing out that I won't be able to fulfill my acting responsibilities. Well, that backfired, didn't it.

And if being sick and crippled weren't enough, today the Captain's car broke down, too. He was on his way to my house with chicken soup. Talk about a road paved with good intentions.