So here I am snuggling up to my new space heater after a few days of living with the little petri dishes and then being upside down in a boat on the Elkhorn Creek.
As you might have guessed, I'm in stage 1 of the bubonic plague: Slight sniffles, scratchy throat, with just a touch of pinkeye-ness this morning.
Sigh. And now for my sentence I'm confined to my glasses, flannel pajamas, and chicken noodle soup. I'm working very hard to not progress into stage 2 of the plague: Mega sniffles, headache, hen-scratched throat, and chronic grumpiness. Stage 3 is the worst with supermega sniffles, freight train in my head, pounding ears, immobile throat and neck, blinded by pinkeye, and inexcusable bitchy-ness. There is a law in 12 states against speaking about the symptoms of Stage 4 bubonic plague so I won't mention them now.
I'll continue to eat fruit and noodle soup and snuggle into my flannel sheets with my flannel pajamas on my new electric mattress pad. I'll either be cured or set myself on fire.
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