"He was so Hoarse He Could Not Sing..."

...Oh, God. So, so, so incredibly ill.

Too ill even to do my exercises, which I managed every day of my illness last week.

My temperature is a respectable 99.1, which is the highest it's been throughout this illness (usually it remains around 96.8); my sore throat is so bad it's beyond my powers to do anything, and even tea isn't helping; I'm so congested that I can't creep back up to bed and try to lose my woefulness in sleep, and I've used half a box of kleenex already; I still feel heavy and dizzyish; and the bruised feeling is definitely still there. I'm also painfully hot.

*moans* I want to die. I want Mum to be home. I want to be well. We're leaving for a three-week cartrip the day after to-morrow. Powers That Be? WTF. FIX ME, PLEASE.

The one glow of joy in the midst of this extreme sorrow is the fact that I got a package from talissarocsham, a most delightful package indeed, and I can't tell her how appreciative I am. *glomps. and loves. and goes to make some of that lovely-smelling tea, in hopes that it may aid the throat of woe*

Also, silverdragon262!postcard came! *squees nasally and sneezes* I love you. ^____^

"With a Bit of Mind Flip..."

Snitched from eponinenkind...


You are Brad Majors. Good for you, you wuss.


Which Rocky Horror character are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

*delighted laugh that dissolves into hacking coughing*

It's making my head hurt, all the coughing. Guh. Had more tea, to no effect, and my nose hurts because I keep blowing it. I shall now feel very, very sorry for myself.