I don’t get sick very often, but when I do it’s as if my body is determined to make up for all those healthy months by knocking me flat on my ass. Well, on my ass I am, and I’ve landed in the squishy middle of a pile of used tissues and cough drop wrappers. The doctor says bronchitis and I say flu (in spite of the flu shot for which I dutifully rolled up my sleeve last fall), but the bottom line is I am effing miserable. So miserable that I spent all day yesterday in bed, moaning and dozing. Too miserable to knit even though I had the entire day to myself… and that’s pretty miserable. Every-muscle-in-every-body-part-aching-miserable.
I even succumbed to the lure of a good squirt of Affrin knowing full well I’d pay the price when it wore off and I suddenly couldn’t breathe again only even worse than before I used it. You know what I’m talking about.
Even this doesn’t make me feel much better:
Well, maybe a little.
Comments welcome