It's not the sore throat. Not the developing drippy nose that threatens to glue my septum ring to my face. Not the overwhelming urge to nod off in my chair with a quilt over my lap like an old man. No, it's not the physical symptoms that make me hate being home sick.
It's daytime tv.
Talk shows and court shows and game shows and dance shows, and all I want is a god damned story that doesn't involve one of the Ten Sitcom Plots.
Mom brought me mango sorbet and fruit salad, and that's making the whole thing easier to take. But I wish there was a service that delivered John Waters movies and mind altering substances. Now that's how you get through a bad spring cold.