I’m sick. Sick, sick, sick. And I didn’t want to blog about it, but now I have no choice. Three days of sick.
Day 1 – Hey, I think I’m sick. What a novelty for a girl with a superior immune system. Am I sure I’m not faking it? Yes, I think so. I claim this couch for lounging.
Day 2 – I feel worse. I’m not going to blog about it. Sick-blogging is ranked down there with cat-blogging. I claim this bed for coughing on.
Day 3 – The sickness seizes my throat and the space behind my eyeballs. I drink orange seltzer water. I play with my sister’s new puppy. I finally cave and take medication. Nothing seems to help. I suddenly feel compelled to reach out to everyone on the internet and tell them how sick I am. I claim this blog for your sympathetic reactions.
But no sick-blog can beat Waldo’s epic sick-blog from 2006:
My throat is clogged. It’s as if I’ve swallowed a drain plug. Every gulp is conscious, difficult, near-desperate, the flailing of a decked fish. . .
When I cough, the plug reveals itself to be an oversize rusty bolt, tearing at a shredded windpipe. I fear I might blow it out. I half expect that when next I clutch at my burning throat I’ll come away with a handful of neck-flesh.
I realize now that sickness separates the true bloggers from the internet so-and-so’s, the wheat from the chaff. If you have not yet blogged about your runny nose and your aching internals, you are obviously a dilettante – you probably don’t even own your own domain name. It took me eight months and almost 300 posts to get here, but now you finally get to see me blow snot rockets.