on being a mouth breather

I sound like Darth Vader committing a crank call. Like I'm in an invisible oxygen tent with all sorts of gizmos pumping and whoooshing air in and out of an iron lung. I feel like I've an iron lung, right beneath my rib cage, pressing heavily into tender essential organs like hearts and stuff, ya know?

Is it really the middle of the first week of the new year? Damn. sigh. How'd that happen? Why do I already feel so far behind? Well, tomorrow will dawn well before I climb outta bed. Then, I simply must get myself to the doc to get this cruddy congested cough cleared up. And get all my meds (tis that time of the month, bills, bills, bills, meds, and bills). And, ya know, do the rest of my errands and pay rent and stuff like electricity. Ooh, yeah, and my car's inspection is due this month. Which I'm dreading, cuz I just know that my car is gonna require some other major dramatic visit and stay with the fix-it dudes.

I've been crocheting my lil silly self into all sorts of baby finger tight loops and stitches. I don't like big lacey things, and most especially not for lil babies, cuz they got lil fingers and toes that snag into those lil holes that stitches in yarn can leave. So, I always crochet a nice tight intricate stitch so that Baby's fingers won't get snarled and twisted and all that. Blankies are dangerous traps. nodding solemnly.

So, tomorrow, in the daylight, I'll take a pic and post it. Ya know, if'n I get myself to the doc and back in good time with good breathing capacity. Crappy hacking crud. nasty stuff. she mutters, just nasty ass crappy crud. sigh. {hack*hack*hack} hooooooooooooooooonnnnk