Dear Cold Virus,

All I really want to say is, "Fuck you," but all I can utter is an "Achoo." So here I proclaim to you that I hate your guts. Also because I'm edgy about a hundred other things, but you are the only being I am justified to take it out on, so fuck you.

I can't believe that some people are like this all the time, that this is how they live. Sure, usually my life is cool most of the time, and then I hit a patch where everything that can go wrong will go wrong and they all jump on top of one another and mosh around in my head, but does this happen all the time to some people? Shit just crashes all over the place, and I start swearing more than usual and it's a thousand times harder to crack a joke. Everything gets under my skin, like the fact that the workout machines are uncapable of reading my heart rate and tell me that I'm working out at a heart rate of 76 when I can take it myself and it's at least 150. At this rate of stress and tenseness, it was probably 140 before I even stepped onto the elliptical. Then again, why should I tell a machine to read my heart rate if I can do it myself?

I thought I fixed this after working out, because I felt better, but then I look at all the crap I need to be studying for an exam that I'm expected to fail and my mood spirals downward. It doesn't help that my roommate once again has bad taste in music. Would it be too much to ask God to send me a roommate who has a good ipod playlist? Maybe it would be.

So, dear cold virus, this one's for you. Signed with no love. Not even sarcastic love. Get the hell out of here before I switch to antibiotics, damnit.