I have apparently caught some kind of debilitating disease that causes all the functions of my body to stop working correctly. Instead of providing my body with air, my nose has decided that it would rather clog itself with boogers the size of Nebraska. Instead of allowing me to swallow food for nourishment, my throat has decided it would rather burn like the flames of Hell in summertime. My ears would rather muffle all sound instead of letting me hear the dulcet sounds of Jason's snoring. OK, maybe that part isn't so bad. My voice is almost non-existent. I like to think it's husky like Kathleen Turner in Romancing the Stone. My dad says I sound like a dying seal. Because of all this I have developed an intimate love affair with some cough drops. If I could, I would rub them all over my body so their soothing menthol scent could follow me throughout the day, like a lover's cologne.
They say this mind-rotting disease is known as a cold but I prefer to think of it as the spawn of Satan throwing a kegger in my brain pan.
This has been going on for about a week now and I feel worse everyday. Something I didn't even know was possible. I thought I would surely die on Monday, but here it is Thursday and I'm still begging for relief. Jason refuses to shoot me on the basis that cops can get in a lot of trouble for killing their families. I told him to stop being such a wuss. I'd even sign a note saying I asked for it. Or he could just tell them what a bitch I can be when I'm sick. I'm sure the judge would understand.
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