Sick. Sick. Sick. Whine. Whine. Whine.

I don’t remember the last time I was sick, but I’ll tell you what. I have never felt like this before.  Somebody told me that they heard if anyone catches the flu this early, then it’s probably swiny. I don’t know if that’s true, but it makes sense to me.

An experiment took place—without my consent, mind you—involving my body’s ability to cough up both lungs and a pancreas while still allowing the host to pray for a quick death.

The feasibility of this study is under scrutiny. I hope no federal funds were used.

You know I was sick because I missed my son’s first marching band competition of the season. Instead, I coiled in the fetal position and listened to the dulcet tones of Scott Simon on Morning Edition; What Do You Know; This American Life; and Wait, Wait, Don’t Tell Me. I summoned the strength to knock Soothin’ Scott out of the way when the Car Guys came on and hurt my spleen with their gravel voices and maniacal laughter. They are really loud.

Every square inch of bone, muscle and tissue in my body hurt. And when I say “hurt,” I want you to picture getting your fingernails torn off while rolling back and forth on a bed of nails while swallowing shards of glass while attending a Car Guys family reunion. Then multiply it by a gazillion.

I guess I shouldn’t complain too much. Like I said, I haven’t been sick in longer than I can remember and it seems to be leaving as quickly as it came. Plus, I’m a Pollyanna at heart and always look for the roses amidst my thorns. I know it’s not a bad thing to have a reminder to appreciate my normal good health. (Hear that, Karma? Now back OFF!)

I must hunt down the neighbor who insisted on polishing the teeth of every car in the neighborhood, however. It might have been a trick of my delirium, but I think it was the Car Guys messin’ with me again.