One of the three most snooze-inducing blog topics in the world: How sick the author is. The others involve minute-by-minute accounts of one’s day and anything about golf.
It seems my fate to plow through several intense months of work and other obligations, only to be stricken with disease the moment a little down time comes my way. Like my body saying, “oh no you don’t Missy. You’ll lie right there in bed and you won’t get up, you won’t clean the house, you won’t go to Lowe’s for begonias for the windowsill. You’re taking some time off whether you like it or not.”
And so I reluctantly go, sulking and pouting the whole way.
I won’t torture you with details about the stomach virus that has afflicted me over the last few days or the fever that had me about .5 degrees from speaking in tongues. Just wanted to mention that if I commented on any blog yesterday and it made no sense whatsoever, forgive me. Just imagine something witty and well punctuated and know that’s what I meant to say.
*If you know who Vyvyan Basterd is, by the way, we’re going to get along just fine.