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I’m sick, peeps. It’s just the ‘flu, but as my first in several years, it’s kicking my butt. In fact, were it not for our security system, I might believe we had been overrrun bygremlins, and that they spent the last many hours poking me with the bristle end of a broom. 

I hurt. My fingers hurt. Even the few hairs on my knuckles seem to protest as I type this. They say that they’ve already run a marathon, that you’ll understand if I don’t make my blogging schedule.

But a committment is a commitment right? Even if I eke out this post one…character…at a…time, it will be worth it. <peck>

And there are good things about being slightly hallucinogenic on virus particles. Many of them.

For example:
1. Staying in pink polar fleece jammies until supper is now sensible, not the sign of licentious tendencies and hidden vice.

2. Turns out my Internal Editor is afwaid of getting a wittle viwus. (Heh heh.) I’ll use that to my advantage by “forgetting” to tell him when I’ve recovered. I’ll speak with a muffled voice and exaggerate my nose’s snot production as if it were oil capacity and I, a third-world country’s Minister of Finance. Meanwhile, my word count will soar.

3. Calories don’t count when you’re sick. It’s a known fact.

4. <peck>

5. Now that my throat feels like I chowed-down on razor wire, I have gained new insight into the mind of fire-breathing dragons. This will be singularly helpful if I’m ever called to play one upon stage. I would own that part, peeps. I would emote the emotingest emotion an actor could manage. The audience would weep to see the level of authenticity I’d obtain.

For my next trick on Friday: Zeus impressions. See, that’s not thunder smiting the Earth; just me and my burgeoning cough.

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