(Or why you should give your internet friends your address)
So, this needs some background for the people who don’t follow my twitter and don’t realize exactly how weird I can be.
I was moping on twitter one day about how I didn’t have a boyfriend, but if I did and he loved me, he would bring me a burrito. In a fit of inspiration, I named him Julio.
Since that day, he’s been fleshed out a bit. It’s been decided that he looks kind of like a hispanic Benedict Cumberbatch, he gives good backrubs, cleans my apartment and likes to fetch me things (burritos, cold medicine, a Pepsi from the QT fountain, whatever). If I’m in the mood for something, there’s a decent chance I’m going to tell twitter that Julio’s bringing it to me.
I had the crud last week. I spent a good portion of last week coughing, shivering, feverish and just generally having a shitty time. At some point, I must have told twitter that Julio was off to bring me some cough drops so I wouldn’t die.
One of my smart assed friends online has my address and decided to send me a get well card from Julio. So today I found this in my mailbox:
The laugh I got from this card almost made having the flu last week worthwhile. It wasn’t, because nothing is really enough to make the flu worthwhile. But it came close. Thank you!
PS: I’ve been informed that Julio was hunting down Randall Flagg since I had to take a break from reading The Stand. For some reason, reading about a superflu while suffering from the flu just didn’t sound like fun.
PPS: I need a manicure.
PPPS: Julio needs to clean up my apartment, the clutter’s building up again.