Delirious

My body hates me.

When I work too hard, I get sick, and I worked like mad this past week. When I couldn't drive myself into work on Friday until 11 AM, and then had to nap for two hours on the spare couch in our office, I thought I'd simply drank too much the night before on two-days worth of an empty stomach. But 48 hours later, 24 of which were comprised of drug-induced sleep, I'm still feeling feverish and phlegmy and unable to concentrate on much more than the basic cable line up. It's not just the physical, but the emotional. The work that went into Thursday's event, then the success of it all followed by the energy it generated for Friday and Saturday had my adrenaline pumping so high for so long, today my seratonin levels finally crashed as well, leaving me in tears just watching reruns of Project Runway.

The good news is that while my body may hate me, I'm loving my body, my loss of appetite having left me feeling thinner than I have in years. So this, I guess, is what they call the stress diet. I can live with that.