Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about.
The Snot Game is when you're trying to sleep, but you only get 15-minute intervals because you have to keep rolling over to avoid having your cheek cemented to the pillow because of, well... Snot. And you can't just sleep on your back, because then you'll become evenly stuffed up in both nostrils and you'll have to sleep with your mouth open. Which is just. The. Worst.
I'm not really puking. Yet. But the comic is still appropriate because it's hilarious.
I'm pretty sure I have/had/am recovering from The Flu. Which shall furthermore hence whence be referred to as Influenza. Because it sounds so much worse. But really, what can be worse than every inch (or millimeter, for my European readers) of your body on fire, your nose pouring snot, your head pounding and your back aching from the constant coughing, and nearly all the clean laundry in your possession covered in dried blobs of green slime because every time you open your mouth, that's what launches forth and lands in your lap. Don't pretend to be grossed out. You know the kind I mean, the mucus that is SO slimy and heavy that it won't stay on the kleenex but instantly slides off and lands somewhere embarrassing. And you try to nonchalantly reach down and blot it up, but too late! Your husband is already staring, his mouth open in sheer horror, cringing at the knowledge that he's the one who will have to do that laundry and scrub that carpet and peel all those soaked kleenexes off the coffee table.
What could be worse than that?
Ebola. Maybe. I haven't entirely ruled that out yet as a diagnosis.
Oh and on top of that, now my left ear hurts. Not just hurting, but intensely throbbing. Also, it's making me very dizzy and I keep typing one space over, like this:
yjod od jpe o y[ur ejrm o
(Which, when translated, means This is how I type when I'm sick)
I tried to eat a banana, but it sounded like I was in my own mouth. I don't know how else to explain it. Like a tiny microphone was inside my mouth to amplify the sound of my chewing to one gazilitrillion gigiwatthurtz. Guess I'll have to go back to my sole source of SickTime nourishment, the frappe. I had nine this weekend. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner, baby.
Anyway, I'm thinking there are three diagnostic possibilities here:
- I've contracted a fatal strain of voracious bacteria that are eating away at my brain.
- A Star Trek sand creature has crawled into my ear while I slept and is on his way to my brain stem, where he will clamp on and respond to commands via a remote control possessed by an evil villain. * See Fig. A.
But wait, there may be a money-making tshirt opportunity to be had from this tragedy:
I seem to remember the actual creature that comes out of that eel looking more like this: