Alrighty, so it is not 4:00 a.m. - in fact, it's barely a.m. at all, which is good because I'm on Day 6 of a That's-What-You-Get-for-Running-Yourself-Down Cold. I'm beyond the phase where I have to rest up after a few minutes of normal exertion (I called in sick to work Thursday and Friday because brushing my teeth made me dizzy). Now I'm in the phase where I feel better, but sound worse. I sound like I've been smoking constantly since the age of six.

[Insert visual of towheaded first-grader in pigtails taking a drag and croaking, "Be a dear and pick up up those jacks for me, thanks, sweetness, you're a doll."]

Which reminds me of some unfinished business. . .

Confidential to Professor B in OR: Bronchitis did not make me sound sexy, and you were an idiot for saying so. I would have told you at the time, but I cared about my GPA.

And now back to my regularly scheduled coughing fit.