In a Nyquil-drenched dream last night, the Boy threw open my bedroom door and gifted me with a life-sized likeness of my own head. Wrapped in foil. Face covered in soot. With bedhead. So that I could "remember what the nursery was like."
No, I don't understand it at all.
In other news, I think Death frenched me as I slept last week, and I've spent the last 7 days with a blowtorch burning in my throat, a nasty cough, and fatigue that's starting to feel like part of my DNA.
:::coughcoughcough:::
You're welcome.
8 comments:
We are sorry you are not feeling well. I have that blow torch throat!
I am sorry to hear that you are ill. So far this season, I have escaped everything upper respiratory - although I probably should not brag about that or I'll get it for certain! Hope you are well again soon.
I hope that you feel better soonest!
It's Denny's loss, not yours. The people still will bring you Denny leftovers (or your own full portion).
I hope that you feel better soon, Thumper. That blowtorch throat is no fun at all. Sickness plus meds can really bring on some weird dreams.
What did you do with the head?
Yuck...... take more Nyquil. :)
When the nyquil doesn't work... and the chicken soup doesn't work... I start making hot toddies courtesy of Capt. Morgan. I figure if nothing else is working... it can't hurt. :o) I hope by this time you are feeling MUCH better!
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