I Wonder Who’s Going to Puke Next….

Thankfully, I managed to get though the last day without having anything come out of me in a bad way. Lauren was not so lucky, and her perfect attendance record has now died a puking, shitting death as well.

So that meant two of us sitting with abdominal pain and general shittiness on the couch for the most part (with only brief forays as is necessary).

Now while I do have sympathy for my children when they are sick (despite my insistence they break out an old dictionary and look for it between shit and syphilis), the simple fact (based on my own tormenting bowel) is that there’s nothing to do but ride this shit out.

In short, I’m tired of being sick.

In addition, I’m guessing that all the sitting around is letting my lungs clutter up, which brings back the fucking cough. Fucking fuckity fuck fuck fuck.

(You’d be saying fuck that many times too if you haven’t been back to 100% since before Thanksgiving.)

Of course, this is also the worst time of year to be perpetually sick, since it’s relatively cold and miserable, so I haven’t been outside much for days. And on the days where it’s relatively warm and hospitable, I’m twisted up.

Of course this means I skip another day of talking about something more disgusting than voluminous projected bodily fluids. Maybe I’ll be healed up enough before Inauguration day (or get lucky and something will fall out of space and fuck Washington up (and take them all out) and let loose with all the shit I’ve been holding in.

Damn, that last figurative expression just reminded me of something else. I won’t elaborate because you don’t need that shit. On the other hand….

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About patrickmspeaks

Father, tech-head, political sage, and the Illustrious One of (little) 3x2 fame, I have been blogging for a few years now, and want to stretch in new directions, discover new things, and redefine redefining just for the fun of it. Nonetheless, having produced a pointless paragraph about me, I'll stop before something bursts.
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