I spent yesterday afternoon at the doctor's office having my spots examined from arms length. No official verdict yet. But my doctor is leaning toward some sort of children's virus like roseola. After literally tossing a handful of Zyrtec samples at me and shooing me out of his office, I had to get six vials of blood drawn from my arm at the hospital's lab.
In short: I am itchy. I don't feel well. My arm hurts. I'm at work. I'm concerned about a friend who is going through relationship troubles. I wish I was at home watching Sense and Sensibility on demand for the third time. I don't feel like being clever. I don't feel like blogging.