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Just a little Ny-Quil weirdness

Has CBS planted gunmen into the homes of all of the Nielsen families?

Because, honestly, that’s the only reason I can think of why “Everyone Loves Raymond” is still on.

Yet “Buffy” can barely squeak into the top 50.

It’s truly a mystery.

I’ve still got bronchitis.

I’ve taken some cherry-flavored Ny-quil and it didn’t even put me into the lovely druggy sleep that it normally does.


Yep. I get pouty when I don’t feel good.

A side note: Ghiradelli makes a brownie mix that does NOT do anything for bronchitis.

It’s really damn good though. It tastes like sin in your hand.

I have no diary in me today. That must be why a bunch of people dropped me off their favorites list. I’m trying not to take it personally. I’m trying not to stare at the list and try to figure out who it was. I’m trying not to OD on Ny-quil in my depression.

I’m going to try to not let this get to me. It shouldn’t matter. It’s really nice when someone favorites you, but if they just ran out of room on their favorites list or aren’t reading you as much as they used to, well, then, it shouldn’t be taken personally. I know this.

I’m still a little pouty though.

It’s all about the Ny-quil.

Tweeting car neighbor ran his tweeting car today for a full hour in his driveway.

While I was trying to read the newspaper without coughing up the four pounds of plegm in my chest.

I couldn’t even be satisfied thinking nasty thoughts about him, because they brought over some still-warm homemade fried dough pastry things last night. And they were really really good. I would have gorged myself on them, but I had just made the brownies and the pastry things were covered in sugar that kept falling down my pajama shirt and making my chest all sticky.

Then later, when I put Vick’s Vap-o-Rub on my chest, it was kind of like a sea salt rub… a mixture of mentholatum and confectionary sweetness. All night I dreamt of church ladies making desserts out of Carmex and Karo Syrup.

I’m not really making much sense. Going to bed now. Hope you’re having a great weekend.


death rattle

(Weetabix coughs up 42 pounds of plegm)

Good night!

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