I’m back from Pensacola. I am sick. I am sure it has nothing to do with me sitting outside all day yesterday, freezing my patootie off, with gale force winds gusting into my face. Cold doesn’t make you sick; germs make you sick. However, I am sick and I was cold yesterday, so I am sure somehow the two are related. It might even be MRSA. Or bird flu. Or possibly even that disease from that powdery stuff that freaked everybody out after 9/11 and I can’t remember the name of it right now because I am sick. I am going to take two Nyquil, which will induce a coma. I will spend tomorrow sleeping off the coma.
Leave me alone tomorrow. Don’t call me because I don’t want to talk to you. I want to lay in bed and slowly suffocate to death on my own mucous. Gah, I hate a stuffy nose! Don’t bother me because I will be far too busy sneezing for the 277th time. My throat hurts, it’s all scratchy and I am cranky. I need my rest.
Do not ask me to blog. I don’t want to blog. I want to die. I am never going to another soccer tournament as long as I live. At least not until next month. I am glad my child had one moment of happiness before her mother succumbed to her illness and coughed herself to death. I make the tubercular tot sound healthy!
I love you all, now go away!! I have to…..ah…..ah…..ah…..CHOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!