On Death, Avian Flu, and the Bubonic Plague

Death has been knocking at my door for the last two days.  And by death I mean the bubonic plague. And by that I mean the avian flu. Okay, fine. I’ve had the flu. Go ol’ influenza. Natures way of reminding you how it is possible to be sick enough that it hurts to move your pinky.Image

Then there’s this chick. Oh, doesn’t she look so miserable with her box of tissues and tousled bedroom hair. God, I wish I looked that cute when I’m sick. No. Can’t be that blessed if I tried. (Not that I think anyone actually could) This has been me for the last two days. Avert your eyes if you have weak stomachs. It ain’t purdy.

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That’s me. Well, all except for the green pustules. I have no idea what those are, but I know I don’t have them. Ewww. I guess it’s a good thing I’m getting better, because that is just not attractive and I’m no beauty queen in the first place.

In case you can’t tell, I turn into a whiny, spiteful pre-teen when I’m ill. This is also very unattractive. I guess the boyfriend really does love me, because he deals with all the ugly. There’s been plenty of it lately, too. Hopefully I’ll get some satisfying sleep and awake feeling much improved.

Even if I’m still a carrier of the plague, I’m going to see The Hobbit tomorrow. Even if it requires me to wear a mask like I do have avian flu… That might just up my geek cred though. Or my weirdo cred at least!

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