I just wanted to post something so you all know I’m not dead.
This is exactly my opinion of the last several weeks:
This is precisely what didn’t happen:
Yes, yes, I know; “poor little bunny“.
Adaptive Curmudgeon is handsome, brave, and wise.
Nice to know your funiness is still above ground and room temperature. I have a bad habit of just stating to read bloggers and then they up and disappear on me. More Bacon, more whiskey and more Dynamite!
Hey, we’re just glad to know you’re still kicking.
Whiskey or whisky, either one (there is a difference), is an acceptable pain med. Jewish penicillin helps too, especially the hillbilly version (made with all the meat chopped up in it, along with whatever vegetables you’ve managed to freeze or can last season–and, of course, cornbread). It’s not really chicken soup, more chicken stew, but cooked until it’s soft enough even the willing-to-die-I-feel-that-bad can get it down. A friend who was dying of throat/mouth (don’t recall precisely–dammit, I’m a tech, Jim, not a doctor!) cancer a few years ago refused to take any food until I made some. He tried it to be polite, asked for more, & I made it regularly until he died. You do what you can.
I suspect you’ll survive, for the usual reasons: Heaven doesn’t want you, Hell’s afraid, etc.
Be as well as you can. We’ll still be here.
Not dead is more gooder than dead. So, Huzzah!
Thanks for all the free ice cream to date – I love the way you think and write!
Prayers you get more gooder, more quicker.
Thanks. Free ice cream will ensue; sooner or later.
Damn. I had a great memorial post all ready to go and everything.
Ha! I ‘aint dead yet!
You have my profound simpathy. Any jackass who thinks he can “manly” through a nasty bug is severely delusional.
Initially I thought just that… but I soon discovered I was delusional.
Wife #2 was a nurse with extensive experience in intensive care units.
If I was sick, sympathy was something found in the dictionary between ‘shit’ and ‘syphilis’.
Her take: “I just spent a day with REAL sick people, you big pussy. If you’re conscious, your temperature won’t melt a wax candle, no bones are sticking through your skin and you don’t have a tumor the size of a tennis ball, then you ain’t sick.
Hell, I figured you were “pining for the fjords” by now!
Get well soon dude.
Obamacare: confusing. My employer has changed health insurers so often in the past year I’ll experience extreme duress convincing the IRS I actually HAVE insurance without a Presidential Decree (or an audit). Hate to break it to ya, but you’re not delusional. Just confused. The good news is that you’ll recover.
Sending healing vibes, AC. And a mustard/turpentine poultice….just in case.
Just want to make sure you understand that SOME cats can sense approaching death, so if yours starts hangin’ around REAL close, you can always ensure the death it senses is not your own…
So did the cat get you?
Actually I’m on the mend… but way behind in a thousand things. You know how it is, all that stuff I should have done while I was foolishly wasting time being ill. Stay tuned for a story involving my woodsplitter and a welder.
Is an onion sandwich involved?
Inquiring minds want to know…
Glad you’re feeling better, even if that damn cat is thoroughly disappointed…
Yeah… just about time to jump start the free ice cream machine.
No onion sandwiches. No dead cats. Shame really.
An on-going serialized novella. Lesbian squirrel harness the power of Swedish disco to erase common sense. When drone strikes, trans-species raptors, and a racist bear all fail to stop them, two brilliant college dropouts in a Subaru are mankind’s last hope. We’re probably doomed.
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