The intern has been coughing up a storm at the office for over a month now, and this week's sacrifice to the gods of snot and sniveling is yours truly. I'm currently sat on a folding chair in my parents' backyard, at the edge of the pond, soaking up sunlight and fresh air like an old-timey tuberculosis patient in new-timey sweatpants. Half of the time my thoughts don't make any sense. When I open my mouth, you'll hear my fever talking. Nevertheless, I'm out and about, spouting words and comments that could be profound - probably only to wake up a week from now and think: "What was that even supposed to mean?"
