Sicky
Hello darlins, did ya miss me? I'm so sorry I didn't let y'all know I was goin away, but with all the Grey's Anatomy drama I had to write about last week, I didn't have time to tell you before I took off!
I spent the last 6 days in lovely Arizona, which is really quite nice this time of year, but so very dry my throat was killing me. I have returned home with the world's most horrible cold and am most probably dying. I come close to death basically every time I have a sniffle, so suffering under the weight of a 50lb brick sitting on my sinuses will surely kill me.
I am, however, an excellent die-er. First, I moan and writhe about to make sure everyone knows I'm dying. Then I blow my nose as often as possible, letting the tissues pile up until someone notices how pitiful I am. Of course there are the frequent requests for fluids (which must be pulp-free light OJ) and popsicles (sugar-free cherry or orange, never grape). Occasionally I eat chicken soup for show, but I prefer burritos and pizza. It is feed a cold, starve a fever...or is it the other way around? Doesn't matter, I feed everything regardless.
So I was dyin' all day yesterday and right about now Sweetpotato is pretty close to smothering me with my extra-fluffed pillows as I lie on the couch writing my last will and testament...he does remember that big t.v is mine, see if I leave it to him! I have called my mother, which I always do when I'm sick because she likes to know if I'm dying and always offers to board the next plane to take care of me, like a good mother should.
Now I don't want y'all to worry too much about your old friend Queenie who is lying at the brink of death, certain to gasp her last breath at any moment, barely holding on to the flicker of life, and gathering her last bit of strength is typing you a final blog. Talk about dedication.
I shall be dying for the rest of the evening and catching up on this week's shows on DVR (so just in case I survive the night I can write about them on Monday). Make sure y'all watch Grease on Sunday, I have lots to say about that one, but I want the images to be fresh in your minds (again, assuming Monday finds me still breathing).
Y'all have a great weekend, I'll be dying, but I wouldn't want you to spend any time worrying about me, no I'll be struggling to hold on, but you go right on ahead and have a good time, don't even think about me clinging to this world with both hands, while being dragged into the next by choirs of angels, I wouldn't want to bother y'all with my death or anything....cough...sniff....gasp....
I spent the last 6 days in lovely Arizona, which is really quite nice this time of year, but so very dry my throat was killing me. I have returned home with the world's most horrible cold and am most probably dying. I come close to death basically every time I have a sniffle, so suffering under the weight of a 50lb brick sitting on my sinuses will surely kill me.
I am, however, an excellent die-er. First, I moan and writhe about to make sure everyone knows I'm dying. Then I blow my nose as often as possible, letting the tissues pile up until someone notices how pitiful I am. Of course there are the frequent requests for fluids (which must be pulp-free light OJ) and popsicles (sugar-free cherry or orange, never grape). Occasionally I eat chicken soup for show, but I prefer burritos and pizza. It is feed a cold, starve a fever...or is it the other way around? Doesn't matter, I feed everything regardless.
So I was dyin' all day yesterday and right about now Sweetpotato is pretty close to smothering me with my extra-fluffed pillows as I lie on the couch writing my last will and testament...he does remember that big t.v is mine, see if I leave it to him! I have called my mother, which I always do when I'm sick because she likes to know if I'm dying and always offers to board the next plane to take care of me, like a good mother should.
Now I don't want y'all to worry too much about your old friend Queenie who is lying at the brink of death, certain to gasp her last breath at any moment, barely holding on to the flicker of life, and gathering her last bit of strength is typing you a final blog. Talk about dedication.
I shall be dying for the rest of the evening and catching up on this week's shows on DVR (so just in case I survive the night I can write about them on Monday). Make sure y'all watch Grease on Sunday, I have lots to say about that one, but I want the images to be fresh in your minds (again, assuming Monday finds me still breathing).
Y'all have a great weekend, I'll be dying, but I wouldn't want you to spend any time worrying about me, no I'll be struggling to hold on, but you go right on ahead and have a good time, don't even think about me clinging to this world with both hands, while being dragged into the next by choirs of angels, I wouldn't want to bother y'all with my death or anything....cough...sniff....gasp....
posted by Queenan at 8:15 AM
2 Comments:
praise god you're sweetpotato's problem now. i mean, i love you and all, but taking care of you every time you're dying is just about my least favorite activity EVER!
smooches!!
You just better remember who made you all those banana puddins and vanilla cupcakes, you unsympathentic fashionista, you!
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