Stop the World ...

I want to get off!

Dear World:

Please excuse Pamela from life today. She is--pardon the cliché--sick as a dog. Actually, if she were a dog she’d be healthy (a cold, wet nose), haha.

Any available cavity in her head is plugged and pulsing (see diagram below), and her throat is lined with cactus needles. She’s not hearing very well, and take it from me, she’s cranky. She feels sticky and inflamed and wholly unpresentable. As an aside she sliced off a section of her fingernail (luckily it was within the half-moon range) yesterday while chopping a tomato, which enhances her general dishevelment.

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She is aware that she had numerous assignments due: A meaningful blog post, work on several in-progress short stories, a copywriting course, and of course the omnipresent housework, but her condition suggests she will be unable to effectively participate. 

It is her fervent hope that she will resume living tomorrow, and will fulfill the obligatory make-up assignments at that time. Meanwhile she expects to be up close and personal with the neti pot, or  safely ensconced between loveseat cushions and a fuzzy blanket catching up on episodes of Chopped and House Hunters International.

Thank you.

Note bloodshot, bulging eyes, enlarged snout, and furrowed brows.