My mom texted me last night:

“Almost time for bed. Having a good time. Almost finished sewing on quilt binding. Tomorrow I will be piecing a new quilt. xoxoxo”

My response:

“Me too. Oh, did I mention I’m probably dying of double pneumonia? Yeah. The vaccines that don’t make you sick? HA! LIES LIES LIES! I love you. Remember me well. xoxoxo”

And further ruminations on said topic from my journal:

“Almost 9PM. Boiling water for hot tea that promotes tranquility. Even the tea bag offers sympathy. Its tag reads, “Be proud of who you are.” Bless you, tea bag tag. Hot. Cold. Almost sneezed three times riding the elevator to my floor and when I blew my nose stuff came out. I’m dying.

Hear this, flu and pneumonia shots: no more. I’ve had it with drugs and “protective” vaccines that make me sick. Sick, I say! I actually sneezed on the fourth try. My proboscis requires constant attention and continues to expel stuff. I sense the onset of intestinal distress. Again! Chronic sinus pain-fine. Frozen shoulder-picnic. This current state-unacceptable.

Off I go–upbeat and with a song in my heart–down the road (seriously, it was like a mile from the metro stop) to meet the “top doc” who’ll help me gain optimal health. Now I’m dying. Isolating at home sounds less loony every minute. I wonder if Amazon sells germ-free bubble rooms, say 500 square feet?

And now that I’m somewhat relaxed, dare I say tranquil, my phone vibrates on the bed (oh, the irony) and I remember I haven’t taken my PM meds. That’s it. I’m placing a moratorium on friends saying, “This is your year!” You are 0-3, at least, dear hearts. I had my “day” this year and am grateful for it. I will knit and read and write and clean litter boxes and nurse this double pneumonia until the disco ball drops, ringing in 2015.



(From now on I’ll take these flu shots, thank you.)

P.S. UPDATE: Fell into a feverish sleep, my skin hot and dry as Death Valley. Awoke 1:30ishAM to pee. Within an hour I awoke drenched and shivering. I toweled off and changed into clean, dry jammies–a momentary thrill not unlike the guy you like asking you out–but remained cold. I zombie-walked into the closet to don my favorite green knit cap. Still missing something. Once I post, it’s fingerless gloves time.

Lack of communication is unhealthy.

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