Aside from the physical whatnot, the grossness of which I'll spare you, I know I'm really sick because of two things:
1. Last night, while doing a logic puzzle, I looked down at a name I'd written in a blank about five minutes previously. The name was supposed to be Duncan. I'd written Dunkin.
2. Today, while getting ready to do a little dance workout, I noticed that my right pointe shoe was not feeling as good as it should. About a half hour later, I realized that I'd put my shoes on the wrong feet. (And with this pair, it matters, because they're precurved a bit and they're marked right and left...you can't tell to look necessarily, but, well, I still felt dumb. I didn't even LOOK when I put them on. That's bad.)
Also, I have a hole in my sweater. And I didn't get a Friday hug.
On the good side of things, the weather wasn't as bad today as it could have been, students are standing me up right and left (shouldn't be a good thing, but I'm damn tired), there's hockey on the radio tonight, I got a trip to Michael's planned tomorrow for crafty things, and there was new Supernatural last night. I'm very worried about Dean, and I want to hug Sam immediately.
I believe I shall go to ReadyCare after conferences tonight and investigate whether I need antibiotics, am dying, or need to just suck it up and try not to cough up unpleasant things in the mornings. I asked my Mom if I should get some whisky and she said no, so...there goes that. Did I mention I tasted Laphroaig for the first time when I was in Madison, Wis? I believe I left that out; I noticed it on the bar's shelf and asked Kate about it, and she gave me a snort for free to see what it was like, since I'd never tasted whisky. Good times.