He ate hearty soup at Tangerine:
And I had a delicious sandwich:
And there was some decent coffee, which I would never kick out of bed for eating crackers:
Nothing was any fun, though, through the fog and ache of this head cold I've been rocking. Does it make sense to you if I say that it feels like I have throbbing concrete balloons lodged inside the front of my skull? Because that is exactly what it feels like.
Luckily, with the help of strong coffee, Mucinex, and barely legal doses of Dristan, I was able to drag at least some satisfaction out of the weekend when I designed this business card for Meghan:
I design just about anything graphics-wise over at Sweet Blog Design, if you're interested.
I'll take that as proof of life.
That proof of life has completely worn me out, though, so I am going to sip tea, down some more Dristan, and hope that all this vitamin C I'm eating will kill my throbbing concrete balloons.
It almost sounds as if there could be some sexiness attributed to "throbbing concrete balloons", and I think there would be some hope if I could remove concrete from the mix, but the concrete part is pretty insistent. Sexiness does not abound.
On a side note, and one that you will probably regret reading, wouldn't it all seem more worthwhile if snot were actually good for something once it left your face? Like if it could be used as a proper glue or maybe as the beginning of a nice bouillabaisse? Under the circumstances, my seemingly unending supply of mucus is just gross and disappointing.