OK, this stuff is officially whupping up on yours truly, oh my darlings. Looked up West Nile Virus, and did a mini-freakout that I have all those symptoms except the rash. Delightful. My abdomen is so shredded by now that the only way I can cough is to curl up in a ball and help squeeze.
I've never been admitted to a hospital for anything in my life, but I thought sure I'd be going there before this weekend ended.
Mom called and left me a voice mail and said she knew without me telling her that the bastard (my word, not hers) shouldn't preach my funeral. She said she suspected his services would not be required anyhoo.
I swear I'm not normally a drama queen.
I'm like my dad, mostly. Dad had the flu once on a road trip when the alternator went out. What to do? Needs must. Dad changed that alternator in between bouts of projectile vomiting á lá Linda Blair, and all the while a passenger was haranguing him to get the car fixed. Then he got back in the car and completed the 10 hour drive.
So, anyway, if I take after pop at all, I'll kick this stuff's ass eventually. Unlike my father, though, I do reserve the right to whine about it. And I'll certainly be giving a piece of my mind to that jerk at my doctor's office. And I'll not be available in the immediate future for any alternator repairs.
That is all.