I've said this already, but I'll say it again here, for posterity:
I can't believe I got swine flu.
--------
Earlier today, my roommate Clint came into town after spending two weeks in a medical test facility in Austin. He came in, made soup, and gave me a stuffed pig in honor of my malady. We sat and chatted and watched an episode of It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia. Then he left. Shortly thereafter, I took some NyQuil and went to sleep.
When I awoke about an hour later, I was pretty certain that I had hallucinated the whole encounter. I could not convince myself that Clint had actually been in the house. I sat in my bed for a full ten minutes debating whether I should call him and ask if I had seen him today. I ultimately decided that his answer would be unimportant, because the fact that I needed to ask the question in the first place was evidence enough that something was probably not right. Fortunately, I then headed into the living room and found the stuffed pig. That confirmed for me that I had actually seen my roommate and had not, in fact, been pulling a John Nash (although Clint does bear a superficial resemblance to Paul Bettany, in that he is both tall and blonde-haired).
Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to find me a Jennifer Connelly to feed me some soup while I do math.
