Tuesday was my last day. With me fighting off the lingering last bits of a nasty chest cold and Chaplin putting another spin of not-funny on the Six Million Dollar Cat joke with a UTI, maybe this isn’t the worst time for me to be unemployed.

I will say though, the fact that this chesty, coughing nastiness is keeping me out of the gym is not helping. I’m certainly catching up on TiVo faster than I thought I would, but I need to be working out and taking advantage of the fact that there is no crafty truck to gorge myself on.

Resumes are out, calls have been made, and more calls will be made next week when I have updated information. Until then, me and TiVo and Chaplin are just going to hang.

Especially when they tell you “if you have the same cold I have, don’t work out until you feel 100% better. You’ll just wind up feeling way worse.”

Felt better-ish Wednesday, much better Thursday morning so I worked out, a bit worse Thursday night, worked out yesterday morning because I thought it was just the morning blahs, horrifying all day yesterday, and wound up going to bed at the ever so hip hour of 8:30pm last night.

And now the Martian Death Cold is back and is much more Martian and Deathy than it was before. Whee!

My immune system tends to collapse when shows come to an end. The sheer stress and insanity holds it together for most or all of a season, and then the second I start to relax, boom.

I remember when Mark and I went to Europe, I’d just gotten off my second season at Ellen and between that and flying from LA to London, I caught a brutal cold that left me exhausted. I remember lying down and napping on the grass in a park outside Les Invalides while he went and checked it out, since I’d been there on a previous trip and Mark hadn’t.

This time it seems to be a wicked but short duration cold that killed my energy for the last few days, killed my appetite until early this afternoon, and will probably keep affecting my voice for another few.

Therein lies the biggest problem: At a time where I need to be making dozens of phone calls to try and get hired on another show, I sound like the harbinger of the apocalypse.

“Hire me! I’ll bring death and destruction to you and all your issue!” is not really the foot I want to put forward right now.

Oh well. I’ve been feeling much better through the day today, so hopefully it’ll clear up by monday when I have to start making all these damn calls in earnest.