Thursday: I was fine. Friday: Not so much.
“The appearance of a disease is swift as an arrow; its disappearance slow, like a thread.” ~Chinese Proverb
It is now Saturday. I should be knee deep in the rather immense “to do” list that has managed to accumulate through the course of the past week. Should. But, what do we find? Were you to walk into my apartment at this very moment you would find me sitting on my couch looking absolutely
It is quite obvious, as long as I look and feel as though I will soon resemble Mike the Headless Chicken (my head having exploded off my body), that my
So, now what? I am sick. I am alone (the kids being with the ex this weekend). Why do I have to do anything? That’s the
I might change out of the bathrobe and into sweatpants and a t-shirt. Maybe. I’ll consider it.
If I sneeze just one more time there will be no shock and awe when the few precious brain cells I have remaining come rocketing in spectacular fashion out of my nasal canal.
Tylenol Cold Severe Multi-Symptom medication is a joke and yet I keep throwing the pills down my throat every four hours because it is what I have here and going to pick up some other sort of medication would mean exposing the greater public to my plague. And, I’m too lazy.
I will more than likely shower or bathe no less than five or six times today (two down already). I know I can not simply wash the virus away but this makes me feel better.
It seems this would be a good day to edit all my iTunes playlists.
The craving for incredibly salty
Orange juice guzzling has commenced.
Hot herbal tea guzzling will commence in the immediate future.
Despite the fact that I have a million plus channels (exaggeration) on TV … there is nothing to watch.
Due to that fact, there will soon be a great internal struggle of deciding to watch all of ‘The Lord of the Rings’ or embarking on a Gerard Butler themed movie marathon. ‘The Phantom of the Opera’ (music). ‘300’ (action). ‘P.S. I Love You’ (romance). ‘Tomb Raider’ (adventure). ‘Dear Frankie’ (drama). I hate decisions.
Nap. It would take a miracle amidst the congestion and coughing and mucus.
A lot of yawning will take place.
Perhaps I will finish current reading material. The problem here is that these pages induce riotous I-can’t-breathe-and-will-now-cough-up-my-one-remaining-good-lung laughter. I am quite sure I only have one lung left. The other one might be on the carpet next to my bed having been hacked up as unceremoniously has a hair ball sometime during the night.
Pretty picture, huh? Anyone want to come over for a visit?