These rainy days are just killing me.

Typically, I love rain. I mean, honest to God, love rain! When I was probably 17 or 18, I remember walking out of Wal-Mart with my mom and it was misting rain and I told her that was the exact weather I wanted for my wedding day. She told me that I was morbid. I’m pretty much anything except morbid.

But this rain? This rain is just messing with my brain wavelengths. This rain is on its knees begging for me to curl under piles of blankets and drink hot cocoa. (Or as the case may be right now, hot tea with lemon while smelling like I bathed in a tub of Vicks.) As if I’m not sleepy enough given the sinus pressure that’s causing my eyelids to remain in a constant state of half-shut just to ensure that my eyeballs remain ensocket (yes, I’m throwing out Frenglish words now), the rain is making my brain turn to mush. In other words, even if I wanted to keep my eyelids open, my brain wouldn’t know how to communicate that to my eyelids.

So I bumble through the day with a half-sleeping brain and I try to make myself move. Then I get home at night, put on Kevin’s sweatpants and my Uzbek footies, wrap myself in my snuggie, and allow my brain to shut down. (Warning: during brain shut-down, lots of tears and unnecessary sobbing may occur.)

As a side note, I have been so chilled the last few days that I took my temperature last night because I thought I had a fever. Turns out, my temperature was 94.6. I would’ve been sent into a panic about my body turning to ice were it not for the fact that a) nothing turns to ice at 94.6 degrees and b) this has happened before when I’m sick that my body temperature goes down. Am I a medical phenomenon?

Which begs me to ask the very important question: if my story gets onto Grey’s Anatomy, who should play my character?!