I woke up sick this morning. I was really hoping it was just the massive change in the weather we experienced here in Michigan – that my body was reacting violently to the change in pressure and humidity. I laid in bed contemplating my options. As I laid there, it became increasingly difficult to even get up, for my mind caught up with the physical failings of my body and decided to war against the items I had listed on my calendar and my To Do list. I do wish that my symptoms were all in my head, like the poem, “Sick”, from Shel Silverstein. Since I am fairly certain I have an honest to goodness cold, I’m going to take myself to bed before the NyQuil kicks in and makes my writing completely unintelligible. Until the next time.. here is a little Shel as your bedtime reading:
"I cannot go to school today," Said little Peggy Ann McKay. "I have the measles and the mumps, A gash, a rash and purple bumps. My mouth is wet, my throat is dry, I'm going blind in my right eye. My tonsils are as big as rocks, I've counted sixteen chicken pox And there's one more--that's seventeen, And don't you think my face looks green? My leg is cut--my eyes are blue-- It might be instamatic flu. I cough and sneeze and gasp and choke, I'm sure that my left leg is broke-- My hip hurts when I move my chin, My belly button's caving in, My back is wrenched, my ankle's sprained, My 'pendix pains each time it rains. My nose is cold, my toes are numb. I have a sliver in my thumb. My neck is stiff, my voice is weak, I hardly whisper when I speak. My tongue is filling up my mouth, I think my hair is falling out. My elbow's bent, my spine ain't straight, My temperature is one-o-eight. My brain is shrunk, I cannot hear, There is a hole inside my ear. I have a hangnail, and my heart is--what? What's that? What's that you say? You say today is. . .Saturday? G'bye, I'm going out to play!"