101 Ways to Blow Your Nose

Not to be an alarmist, but I am almost positive I've been struck down with some kind of rare, ultra-secret black plague-styled pathogen that turns ordinary bodily functions - such as breathing and blinking - into an Olympian exercise in feverish futility.

Did any of that make sense? Not that I care. I really don't.

I'm too miserable to care. (If this seems like some weak, pathetic attempt to garner lots of sympathy and maybe some of that fancy hot chocolate that comes in those little packages with pictures of Sweden/Denmark/Netherlands, you are absolutely correct. Normally my attempts are more forcefully energetic. But I'm feeling puny and this is the best I can do.)

I even made this post BOLD/LARGE so I can easily read the monitor, which is hard to do because I think my dead relatives are beckoning me to come into the Light and I can't pay attention writing/beckoning at the same time.

I'm not sure if I'm also being sucked into the "Tunnel" or if it's just the head full of mucus/snot/gross crap that's making me dizzy.

Either way.

Head cold, my ass. There are razor blades of blinding light searing the delicate tissue of my retinas. Also I am fairly convinced the Demon (well, lesser minion anyways) of Underwater Hearing and Sound Sensitivity has taken possession of my ear canals. I think I can literally hear the cat shedding.

And instead of my typical breakfast of delicious, delightful Diet Mtn. Dew merrily coursing its caffienated way through my eagerly receptive neurons, it has instead decided to curl up into a slothful ball of queasy/heavy/future-barf smack dab in the center of my tender tummy. Kinda like the feeling of standing on a ship's deck. The rolling, nauseous caution that makes you want to lay down. Quick.

I don't even know if I'm being funny here. Can anybody tell? I can't. Plus the keyboard feels like it's miles and miles away instead of passively resting under my fingertips - which, btw, seem to be operating independently of my brain.

Well, of course they are. The fingertips are all happy and perky because THEY don't have sinus cavities. Screw them. See if THEY get a manicure anytime soon. (This is a big fat lie. Even if I were the poster child for perfect health, I'm not up for a manicure today. Or tomorrow. I'm still struggling to get 10 zillion wreaths made up by Friday night and, between straight pins and the HOT glue gun, my fingertips look like they've contracted a rather hideous form of leprosy. My bad.)

Maybe it's just the fever talking. Not that I can prove I have a fever. The only thermometer we have on hand is one of those old glass, rectal things. And there's no way that thing's going in my mouth. It's probably still crawling with baby-butt germs from decades ago. Probably, it should go in the trash but since it's a mercury filled one and you can't legally just THROW the things away and since it's easier to keep it in the back of the medicine chest to give the dust bunnies something to play with I still have it. Call me an animal lover.

Whatever. I'm done here.

BTW. As a sort of post-Halloween horrorfest, I watched the first two movies in the Wrong Turn trilogy last night. Great. Just great. Now I'm scared to death to ever go camping/hiking/walking/driving within a billion miles any wooded foresty-type area.

Anybody watched those movies? If so, exactly how far into the movie were you before you wanted to slap a big roll of duct tape over that guy's mouth who kept yelling (for all the inbred crazies to hear) "HELLLLLOOOOO ... ANYBODY HERE?"

If there's anything we've all learned from our love of scary movies and books, is this ... keep your stupid mouth shut.

So we're watching part 3 tonight. While I wrap wreaths. And blow my nose while using a hot glue gun. There's so many ways this could go wrong ...

PS. I'm too apathetic to use spellcheck today. :P