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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.
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.
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.