Tuesday, June 20, 2006
Gimmee a B! Gimmee a R! Gimmee a O!... Oh, hell, I've got Bronchitis
A cute bronchitis, that is. It's snuggly and fuzzy and leaves little mucus trails all over my lungs.

This is why one should never ever smoke. A head cold can become a....KILLER.

The doctor actually told me (that is, this is what I heard between wheezes) that people have died...DIED...from bronchitis. Okay, great. Tell a freakin' hypochondriac that she's gonna die from the wheezing.

For my trouble, I got a breathing treatment, a shot in the ass, and four prescriptions. I'm on so many steroids I can bench press a Braves baseball player right now. I've got some codeine, some big ole' horse pill antibiotics, and an inhaler. Used in conjunction with a toilet paper roll, I'm reminded of college--exhaling pot smoke through dryer sheets stuffed in a cardboard roll. Not only does it mask the smell of pot, but it freshens your room as well.

Anyway. I have an official reason to be out of commission. Plus, I'm knitting.
Written by FRITZ
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Name: Fritz

Location: Detroit Rock City!
Where the weak are killed and eaten

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    We shall not cease from exploration And the end of all our exploring Will be to arrive where we started And know the place for the first time. Through the unknown, unremembered gate When the last of earth left to discover Is that which was the beginning; At the source of the longest river The voice of the hidden waterfall And the children in the apple-tree Not known, because not looked for But heard, half-heard, in the stillness Between two waves of the sea. Quick now, here, now, always— A condition of complete simplicity (Costing not less than everything) And all shall be well and All manner of thing shall be well When the tongues of flame are in-folded Into the crowned knot of fire And the fire and the rose are one. -T.S. Eliot "Little Gidding"

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