I am sick, sick, sick.
Allow me to paint a written picture of my appearance, then feel free to ask my husband if he will ever get it up for me again.
I am on the couch, surrounded by tissues both new and used. Mostly used.
My hair has matted into one rather large dreadlock.
I have snot exploding from my nose every other minute which cannot be controled even by the largest arsenal of toilet paper Sam's Club can provide.
I'm also using wads of it to plug my left nostril which is super sexy.
I am drifting between groggy consciousness and blissful sleep in which I dreamed I waited tables in a restaurant owned by Steve Martin.
The only thing I look forward to is my next dose of cough syrup.
I was told taking a hot shower would help.
I still feel like shit.
But I am clean.
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