I couldn’t see the title of the book so it must have been about Scientology.
tweet thisFiled under: Deep South, Everyday, health, humor, life
I There’s a reason people get sick—the attention. But, I’ve discovered as of this morning, there’s a reason good friends drive their sick friends to the doctor and then spend the next two hours in the waiting room having their patience tested—the neighborhood. Of course, this requires explanation. It’s 10:03 AM, and I’ve brought Amanda to the Student Health Center. She’s been very sick to her stomach, and I felt she needed better attention than my telling her to “take it to the toilet” every hour or so. Little did I know the call to action that I was unwittingly engaging myself in. I found...
I don't actually sleep very well, without you, except sometimes.
Although I hate being sick, I will admit to loving the way my voice sounds when I get congested. It's deep, it's sexy, raspy, as if I've actually been a smoker for many years, and on a dare, decided to smoke an entire pack at one time, before quitting. I feel like I'm nasally the love child of Bea Arthur and James Colburn. At least, in my mind, that's how I sound. In reality, I'd told be the love child of Bea Arthur and Charles Nelson Reilly, everybody knows that.
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