I am so ill. My darling husband passed along a vicious bug to me this week. Yesterday I spent the day curled up in a ball of agony, aching from head to toe, pain all the way down to my bones, coughing like a madman, mucus all up in my business, and a fever. Eight teaspoons of Tussin, 5 ibuprofen, a Vitamin C tablet (for good measure), and six bowls of cereal later, and I am still on my deathbed.
Cough syrup is so gross. I haven’t had to drink any cough syrup since I was literally four years old. I remember having to sit on the kitchen counter while my parents spoon fed it to me, resisting all the while. That shit tastes like gasoline and flavored lip gloss. Ugh. I have no choice this week though. My coughing is repulsing even my dog. It hurts so bad, it’s like someone is attacking my trachea with a blowtorch every time I bark out a stream of coughs.
At least if I can take down shots of Tussin, I at least know that I can probably tackle shots of 100 proof rum this weekend, that is if I make it out of this alive. Thursday afternoon I am arriving back in the 51503 to rendevouz with my old comrades for the weekend. I will be hospitalized. Or incarcerated. There’s really no way around either of those.
I hate people that have comment-to-comment arguments on things like YouTube videos. Does anyone really win those fights? Who do you brag to when you totally diss on someone’s comment under a Bruno Mars music video? Let’s be serious. Get a life.
The next person on my hit list:
Ma babyboi iz doin all sorts of flips inside me! Lol my shorties r crackn up:) “mom my baby brother iz crazi” iz wut thy keep sayn….hahahah….awww! I luv my lil familia:)
At home wit da shorties:) aint nada like steppin into tha NEW YEAR wit tha ones i love tha mostest!!! erybody else b safe and have a HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!
I’m off to find something that will knock me completely out for the next 24 hours. In a perfect world, I will wake up completely refreshed, and my sickness will have left me entirely. Instead I will probably wake up with mascara smeared all over the left side of my face, hair greasier than a Whopper Jr., vomit on my pillow, and my eyes crusted together.
Only time will tell.
B: Eggs or oatmeal?
B: F*ck you, I’m eating oatmeal.