I feel like a cloud is floating around inside of my head. My daily amount of snot production is up 867%. My nose hurts. I'm hot and cold. "Achoo!" is my new favorite word. My sinuses feel like a small child has crawled inside of them and is walking around pushing on the walls.

I've got a NyQuil hangover. Man, that shit is serious. I popped a couple of gelcaps before I went to the grocery store last night, and I felt like I was stoned. I wandered around the store in a goofy haze. I caught myself staring at the frozen foods for like, 20 minutes. The poor cashier had to repeat herself 3 times when she was trying to tell me I forgot a bag. I was just fixated on the words coming out of her mouth, but not what she was saying.

On the drive home I was struck with an irrational panic that I'd get pulled over and handed a DUI for cold medicine.

I made it home and cooked veggie soup. Sat down and tried to eat it, but kept catching myself arranging the peas into funky shapes. Eventually gave up and handed the bowl to Neal for his scarfing pleasure.

My poor co-workers keep coming over to tell me things, and I can feel myself staring at them druggedly through half-closed eyes, but I can't do anything to stop it. I look like a hippie on Meigs County Gold. My boss is probably going to ask for a drug test. What if I get fired and have to go to rehab for abusing NyQuil? Evil, evil shit, that stuff.

My stuffed-up nose sounds like crap on the air. I sound like a snotty, nasal bitch. (Except for the bitch part, I guess I am, though.) I'm short of breath, so my newscasts are peppered with occasional gasps for oxygen. I'm Darth Vader. A nasal, snotty Darth Vader, if Darth Vader acted baked and blew his nose a lot.

I'm a little dizzy, too, and have hang on to the counter for a minute at the end of every cast, because the desperate gasps aren't getting quite enough oxygen to my brain. I'm actually kind of enjoying this part. Nice buzz.

OK, I'm trying to finish up so I can get outta here. Are you done with that Kleenex? Can I borrow it?

P.S. Before I get a million messages saying, "GO HOME!" I should tell you I'm exaggerating. A little.

Oooh. Look at the pretty colors.