The cold from hell continues. The light is too bright, the dark is too black. Everything hurts. My boots are buttoned too tightly, my collar is too high, my coat is too warm, my rings are too sharp, the end of my nose is bright pink or so they tell me, I don't know since my eyes are too watery-bloodshot to see anything. My throat hurts too much. I'd like to be cut out of my clothes at which point I will fall forward onto my face on the bed and sleep without waking until I am better.
No? What do you mean 'No'?
And frankly Nyquil comas seem to last from eleven until three a.m. sharp and then sorry, kid, you're on your own.
I was going to dip into the mailbag. If you'll recall, in this post I asked what you wanted me to write about and frankly, I'm sorely disappointed. I can actually grant very little of the words you want. Mostly you want a voyeuristic look into Ben's life. And some of the others too and this isn't acceptable, clearly because if the boys wanted you to see these things they'd have their own blogs.
I can see the blog titles now in my head and I can't even share those! And they're IMAGINARY!
But I can't do anything now because Jake is singing Africa. Suddenly I'm well aware I posted that sentence a few years ago (post now removed) which means once again, head=explode. He thinks he's harmless. I'll tell you he's harmless. It's just dumb little things like this that chip away at my soul. This and the cold from hell. Literally. I got it from Caleb because you know, little girls can't keep their hands out of the fire even after being told.
