I don't feel much like writing, but I feel I should. How's that for self-inflicted nonchalant guilt?
It feels like half the planet is either puking and pooping or hacking its brains out. I'm doing neither, but for a while yesterday I felt like I'd landed in the swamp. My doctor's office was filled with people who were either coughing up small animals or looking vastly uncomfortable and begging for the bathroom every 12 minutes.
It made my little issue feel downright silly.
In other P bits, I made pea soup today. It was thick and filling. Needed salt. Don't care.
If I could harness today's emotions, I'd have something. But tonight, I just want to shut the hell up.
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2 comments:
I couldn't agree more! No sooner do you recover from the cold or flu than some moron who could care less in a grocery line or the library coughs with his mouth open. Some things never cease to amaze me!
P is for Pookie.
And Pea soup. And puking. And pulchritudinous pustules.
Hope you feel better.
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