Bitches, I hate being sick. I freaking HATE!! Every time I get the teeniest tiniest taste of a cold or the flu I turn into an eight year old brat. All I want is for someone to dote all over me and listen to me whine about how I’m going to die and take notes as I begin to bequeath all of my worldly possessions. Boom Boom can have my Burberry handbag. My sister can have all my bedding and furniture. Jersey Belle can have all my music. Fashionista can have all my cookbooks and Le Crueset stuff. Jewcy Bits can have all of my gluten free goods. Lucy(fer) and Damien can have my 401(k). My mom can have my photo albums.
Is anyone writing this down??
No, of course not. Because everyone is busy leading their own lives while I sit here on the couch dying from Ebola, or the Hantavirus, or Anthrax, or the Black Plague or God knows what else. In the past two hours I have gone through half a box of tissues. It’s that kind of day. My poor nose hurts so badly from blowing it that I’m afraid of what it will look like in two days. And where on God’s green earth does all of this damn snot come from? WHERE? It’s not possible to produce so much freaking mucous. It’s just not right. I’m rotting from the inside. It’s the only explanation.
Goodbye cruel world!
Fuck, I have to blow my nose AGAIN!