Sedation would be nice. Bronchitis is kicking Cheek's arse and stealing sleep in the night. Hack with force, tears eject, prop back up on pillows, drowse. Hack again, listen to the cat snore until realizing it's the wheezing left lung. Turn over. Repeat until sun rises. Expectorant cacophonous coughs combine with neighborhood demolition chaos as purloiners of daytime napping. To sleep, perchance to dream ...
Music is respite. Much regret in missing the Grammys and the trio wow of Corinne Bailey Rae, John Legend, and John Mayer. Turning the volume up high drowns out the self cough sound track.
Aaaack! Thhhppt! Sick sucks. A certain Canuck claims he never gets sick. Upon sick's creep, he drinks 'til blotto and lets the hangover trump the creeping crud. Does that work for you? The Messiah's Handbook says: "Argue for your limitations, and sure enough, they're yours." Go away, dark phlegmy clouds - on to the bright sunshiny day.
James, by Mark Tonra