An artist cannot fail; it is a success to be one. Charles Horton Cooley

An artist cannot fail; it is a success to be one.  Charles Horton Cooley

Wednesday, June 2, 2010

If I could write a song.

It would be called, "F*** the Flu." I am done being sick, I have been cooped up in this little room for far too long with only George to keep me company. So I am now prepared to write the lyrics to the song, and have no intention of making it rhyme or even sound pleasant. Maybe it's actually going to be a poem, I'll decide later.

Oh f***ing flu get away from me. I never asked you to come my way. I don't want to hear you're pitiful voice cry that no one wants you. It isn't my problem you're unbearable, so leave. I miss giant sugar cookies, and snow cones, and seeing the sun. I haven't had Dr. Pepper in a week, so flu, you're no fun. {just started feeling the need to rhyme} I want to eat the whole fruit Jamba that is waiting downstairs, and not feel like crying when I swallow thin air. I wouldn't have kissed him had I only known that you were waiting to make my only form of communication my computer and phone. My head aches, my ears ache, every muscle from head to toe aches. I can't walk more than a flight of stairs unless I take a break. I have slept a good 6 days now; what more do you want? I have taken antibiotics, advil, homeopathics, even gone for a jaunt. Idaho and back, a very unpleasant trip, after throwing up for decades, I still can't give you the slip. And the swollen gland on my throat is the size of a potato. {that's a hyperbole} I hadn't shaved my legs in 4 days and found to my dismay that the task took too long for my stomach to weigh. So now here I again sit on the bed in my den, and it feels like my right leg belongs to a man. {thats not a hyperbole} I haven't the energy to brush through my matted hair, so instead I will leave it and pretend I'm a bear.

Tuesday, June 1, 2010


Me if I was a small Asian child.

Wellll at this point in time I am freaking sick. I went to Idaho with Joe, and was in bed or puking the whole time. {I don't puke. e.v.e.r.} Don't even worry though, he was sick as well! Surprising, I know. So my parents rescued me yesterday and I have been sitting at home just sleeping and wishing I could eat for two days.
Joe flew to Washington today at 5:00 p.m. and will be there all summer. Jerk. Get me sick then leave me sick. Really I am fine, just bored out of my mind, and can't really move much.

Also... I just found this.

Signs that you have a small child

  • You are not uncomfortable with sniffing a butt in public.
  • You feel like you are forgetting something if you can easily walk out the door.
  • The safety and security procedures in your home have to be stricter than those of the TSA.
  • You do not think it unusual to find salami in your recliner, CD's in your tub, rocks in the dryer vent, and Tupperware in the toilet.
  • You think a paper towel tube is a musical instrument.
  • You always carry a bag of Cheerios in your purse.
  • The possessions you are most afraid to lose are small, plastic, drooled on, and cost less than 3 bucks.
  • You find yourself humming "Pop Goes the Weasel" during dull moments at work.
  • You no longer need to buy sticky notes, because regular paper sticks anywhere you put it anyway.
  • There is absolutely no reason to purchase a burglar alarm for your home because anyone attempting to walk through your house in the dark will set off numerous noisy toys and will inevitably howl in pain when they encounter the trap's.

Well thats all for this post... I'm going to try to eat a bean burrito without regurgitating it.