The Plague:

I'm not exactly sure what type or form of disease I have caught, but the truth of the matter is that I am sick. I don't enjoy this feeling at all. For the hours that I have been wading through the fogginess in my head, I have been living on Halls burn-your-ears-eyes-nose-and-throat cough drops and any form of paper product ("sandpaper' included) that could serve for ejecting the mucus-like masses from my nostril cavities.

I think yesterday afternoon/evening, I pumped 6 echinacia in me, used a substantial amount of tissues, and 7 Halls nuclear-warhead-in-a-little-white-wrapper cough drops in attempt to dethrone King Pestilence. However, I am STILL sick. Right now all I want is to lack responsibilities and have attendant circle me with orange juice and chicken noodle soup. Maybe if I give the "puppy dog that was thrown into the air by a Mack truck and recieved on the other end by Sammy Sosa's baseball bat" look, someone might have a form of pity on me and attend to my current needs.

I hate being sick. I think that sickness is tough on anyone, but I think that when a guy gets sick, they are reduced to a helpless pile of flesh and bones with the ability to whine and cry until someone takes pity on them. It is at moments like these that I wish for one of two things: that Mom was here or the I had a girlfriend. Both would express much concern and pity for the ones the care about when they fall victim to "the plague". The biggest difference between the two would be that Mom would tell you straight up what you need to do to get better and a g/f would jokingly tell you to "Suck it up, Princess" and listen to Mom.

Maybe all I'm trying to say is that I wouldn't mind a little pity. Any form of pity would be great about now. But until I recieve some, I will exist as that pile of flesh and bones, living off of Halls anthrax-to-ailments drops and tissues and soup.