Like a Pizza Pie of Misery

I don't think it takes a literary scholar or a dectective to determine that I'm sick again. I'm trying desperately to stave it off with Airborne and tea and soup and all that jazz. I think I drank almost a bottle of Nyquil to put me down last night. Honestly, for a small girl, I have quite the tolerance and I think often what I need most is a tranquilizer gun. For when I'm not sick, too. I'm sure it would be much easier to reign Whiskey Carrie in with one of those bad boys.

Throw on top of that some menses and I'm just about as unpleasant to be around right now as you can imagine.

Someone needs to remind my body that it's the Year of the Fabulous. Not the Year of the Bloated, Emotional, Phlegm-Filled Ickiness.

At least I'm not this grumpy. Sheesh. I'm also very glad I don't have neighbors. People are crazy, in case you haven't noticed. And I am their Queen.

Wow. Neighbors suck.

I'm going to go gorge myself on Turkey Chili day here at the office and continue drinking more liquids than my body can possibly tolerate.

Blargh. Argh.