The last 36 or so hours are kind of a blur for me, but I’m fairly certain that anything I might have done could not explain away the incredible stickiness of my desk. I didn’t *touch* my desk at all yesterday – I spent the entire day in bed moaning dramatically – so why is my desk covered in what feels like tar? Disconcerting.

I feel a little better. It would be much more of an accomplishment if I didn’t LOOK so bloody awful – I’m a terrifying sight to behold, and somehow I need to clean myself up to be presentable by 5pm. It’s a daunting challenge; one I would normally scoff at – except my ego will in no way allow me out of the house looking as terrible as I do at this moment. I will use every weapon in my arsenal to transform from a sickly beast that hasn’t moved out of bed since 8pm Tuesday night to an odd-looking wallflower hiding behind a tiny computer and vast cleavage. Oh yeah. It’ll be magical.

Tonight is a test, of sorts. If I can pull myself together enough to pass as not deathly ill in the company of others, I’ll be okay to attend Northern Voice tomorrow. The kickoff party is tonight, and I don’t really want to miss it. I don’t think I’m contagious – I’m generally very good about not making out with strangers when I’m overwhelmed with shyness – and Ed’s been hanging out with me for days with nary a sign of disease, so I think we’re in the clear. I should probably get started on Operation: Presentable soon, though. It’s going to take seven or eight showers to get me to a place where makeup and scented lotions might actually do some good instead of making things worse.