It STILL feels like I'm swallowing glass, and something rattly has decided to rent out the space that used to be my lungs. I'm not sure what's wrong with my little white blood cells, but they're totally failling in the delivery of the eviction notice that my brain drafted up. And whoever came up with the idea to make cough suppressant pills the size of Rhode Island was seriously delusional. Afterall, if my throat was up to that sort of challenge, I probably wouldn't need the pill in the first place! Not that the medicine is working anyways. I can only assume that it took a wrong turn in my esophagus and is ALSO floating around with the Rattly tenants, completely abandoning it's mission to fix my throat.
    All of this crossed my mind just after I finished making my husband meatballs for dinner. Ah, there's nothing like a delicious, hand-rolled meatball from a woman that's been hacking up a lung for the last 5 days. And really, my husband deserves better than bacteria-infested, germballs for dinner.... afterall, he has been so good to bring me a cup of tea every morning and again every evening (well, ok, sometimes I request ice cream instead of tea.... if I cough a little more than normal and say "pweeze?", he doesn't even remind me that lack of exercise and the increased calories are a no no). But even though the Rattly family isn't letting me work out right now, I'm still being careful to watch the scale. I even went as far as weighing myself right after a coughing fit, having expelled quite a bit of phlegm into the garbage. I have no idea how much phlegm weighs, but the scale did seem to tip in my favor. How about it, ladies? A new weight-loss regimine for the sick? Alas, it is time for my nightly cup of tea (ahem, bowl of delicious goodness), followed by a Robitussun cocktail, and a Vix vapor rub slathering.

P.S. To make matters worse, I have an enormous zit starting to take over the lower-right quadrant of my face.

P.S.S. I'm STILL not pregnant.

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