Sniffling, Sneezing, Aching, Coughing, Stuffy Head, Fever, So I Can Rest...Wait, no I can't.
2006-02-10, 10:32 p.m.

Dear People who make Puffs Plus With Lotion,

You are gods. I heart you. The time I used one of your tissues to clean my glasses? I totally take back EVERYTHING I said.

Your bestest pal,
Sally

I want my mommy. I need a back rub and to sleep with my yellow dog Charlie and her to sing her �Ooo La Lay� lullaby and when I feel better, to make me a nice big plate of asparagus on toast with white sauce. Instead, my mommy is 350 miles away and my hubby is even farther than that taking care of his mommy.

This sucks.

Cookie keeps trying to take over one side of the bed, but when she sleeps she lets out these hellacious nasty dog farts and I choke and gag and throw her off the bed. It�s freezing out and calling for snow, and even Son said it�s a three-dog night, but I can�t cuddle with either of the two we have. If it�s not Cookie�s puppy poots, it�s Spunky poking his pointy cold little snout in my ear, dammit. Nothing can wake you from a deep sleep quite like the nose of a Pomeranian in your ear canal.

Speaking of nocturnal flatulence, Hubby, the King of Bed Farts, exacted the perfect revenge upon himself on my behalf a couple of weeks ago. He uses a cpap machine for sleep apnea, which is a small air compressor that blows air through a mask he straps on over his nose. (Insert Borg joke here.) He let one rip in bed and I yanked the covers off him, rather than be braised in that funk like an oven-roasting bag with marinade de pew. Instead of rolling in my general direction it went downward, was sucked into his cpap machine, concentrated, and jettisoned directly into his olfactories. It was pure poetry. It brought tears to both his eyes and to mine, albeit for totally different reasons. I will treasure that moment for the rest of my life.

I�m shooting for a happy Nyquil medium: enough to get relief and an enjoyable buzz, but not so much that tomorrow is spent floundering in a post-drunken stupor. I have to be up at o�dark thirty because I. Will. Go. to our church�s annual antiques and collectibles sale tomorrow morning. I may be a barely mobile undead initiate, but if there�s a chance of finding cheap metal lunchboxes, just have the hearse drop me off at the front door of the fellowship hall.

And Ira. Ira, Ira, Ira. As of tonight he�s lost a few friends and business connections and what goes around, comes around, fast. Last night I was too close to vigilantism to tell the whole tale, but GroovyGuru did the job better. However, bigger and better things are now in motion for my friend, I have forgiven the rat bastard (sort of), and after saying 5 kabillion Hail Marys (not bad for a Protestant), hopefully I�ve been forgiven for everything that crossed my mind too. Because trust me, it warranted 5 kabillion Hail Marys. And then some.

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