The Universe has a nasty sense of humor, doesn’t it?

I woke up to Aunt Becky’s version of the stomach flu (I’ll spare you the details), and have been writhing in agony every since. Because not only is my body evacuated of most of it’s contents, but my fucking skin hurts. My aches have aches.

I’d feel sorry for myself, but I’m too sick. When you’re too sick to feel sorry for yourself, you know you’re deep in the shit (literally, now).

———–

You guys are too sweet to The Daver and I. Pretty soon, he’s going to read the comments and get a big (er) head about himself.

I’m going to wrap you each up in a virtual hug (virus free, I hope) and tell you how much I heart each and every one of you (another good sign that I am really sick is how emotional I am right now. See, I can be nice sometimes!) and how much you made my day with your kind words.
(just try not to breathe in when I hug you. I smell like sick).

I hope to be Backstreet’s Back, All Right soon.

*smootches*

Comments = full of the awesome. Like gravy. I can haz an RSS RSS feed .

15 Responses to Typhoid Becky (deux)

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