My hair hurts. So do my eyelashes. My head feels like it weighs 219 pounds, and even my armpits ache. I really hate being sick. I have seen more meaningless TV today than I can handle. I don’t care about your weekend home improvement project. I don’t care who stole your rats when you were out of town. I don’t care how you should prepare corned beef and cabbage. I don’t care about the warehouse fire in Louisville, Kentucky. I don’t care about your wild weddings, or who made it on the Top 20 countdown. I don’t care. I don’t care. I don’t care.
Ryan brought me french fries. I always want french fries when I’m sick. And when I’m well. My mom brought me bread pudding. I like bread pudding when I’m sick. And when I’m well. I took two Airbornes, and a Dayquil cold and flu. I still feel like crap. I have to stop writing. The pressure of the keys on my fingertips is more than I can handle.
