You Dropped a Bomb On Me

Ode to Amie

by the Flu

I don't give a &#%@! what you think you need to do.

I'm going to turn your insides outside and

make your head pound with fever until you want to be shot.

Stupid flu. He doesn't even bother to rhyme. He does however, hold true to his word. Fortunately, we only have a BB gun so I'm still here. And no, I didn't "shoot (my) eye out."

Tim is taking Nathan to the doctor today for what we think is an ear infection. He's complained with some pain but mostly the boy is suddenly deaf. I don't know when his last bath was and I have some fear that it will turn out he just needs the wax cleaned out of his ears. "Well, Mr. Sexton, it appears that Nathan cannot hear you because he is currently hosting a small honeybee colony in his ear."

I have switched myself to a treatment dose of tamiflu -so much for prevention. And what's worse this flu monster is completely unfair. I alone have had the great privilege of visiting the yuck bucket. What's up with that? While Tim's at the doctor, I will be laying on the couch fighting off waves of nausea and glaring harshly toward any loud noises coming from the other children. If the mean faces don't work, I will pull out the big guns...Shrek trilogy, anyone?.

Back---to---the---couch.