I am invincible. I am not supposed to be sick. Somebody did not get the memo.
This is all my husband’s fault. He did this to me. He was sick all last week…hangin’ around the house…breathing…
So here I am. Runny nose, sore throat and icky phlegm-hacking-coughs that hurt like a sonofabitch. I think I’m dying.
Fortunately, in a fit of nostalgia, I DVR-ed “Pretty in Pink” and “The Breakfast Club”, and “Resident Evil” arrived in the mail yesterday. The ailment-entertainment plan is secure.
Dogs are providing no moral support whatsoever. Duke’s only contribution lies in his attempt to consume my snotty tissues. I think his motives may involve some amount of selfishness, but, we haven’t discussed it yet.
Ugh. Got the skin-hurt-thing. Just what the hell is that, anyway? Anyone?
I am in no mood to be social. Go away.
When Cameron was in Egypt’s land…
let my Cameron go…
4 thoughts on “>"You’re not dying, you just can’t think of anything good to do."”
>”icky phlegm-hacking-coughs that hurt like a sonofabitch”hypersecretion of mucus and expectorated sputumI’m sorry…I really am.I’d send soup but it’d be cold by the time it got there from T.O.Take care.
>He’ll keep calling… He’ll keep calling… He’s not gonna leave me alone… I’ll go. I’ll go. I’ll GO.Aaarrrrrrrgggggh!
>”When Cameron was in Egypt’s land, let my Cameron go…””GRAAACE!””Go suck your head.””I SHOULD SAY YOU DO!””If you say Ferris Bueller, you lose a testicle,” – “Oh, you know him?”