it might be tomorrow already

That was by far the fastest downward spiral from perky normal to put-me-out-of-my-misery sick. Yesterday, nary an errant cough. By this afternoon: drippy nose, burning throat, mild nausea, back pain, headache, fever, ...

Possibly not the best night to make decisions about spending considerable sums of money. Yet the damage sits as a stack of confirmations to my right, and really all it's doing is making me smile. Slightly to the left this time. Hopefully the date's significance will remain purely metaphysical.

The drive home was immensely productive Secret Santa fic-wise, even forgoing that I felt about three steps down from seasick the entire five hours. But I got there and my mommy held me as long as I needed her to and made me tea and told me everything would be okay, and it will you see, because she said so.

How flawed art thou? Let my father count the ways.

"You look better." I have a fever of close to 100 degrees, have been hacking up bits of my lungs pretty regularly for the past ten minutes and haven't seen direct sunlight in about three and a half months. Sure.

"You've lost weight, haven't you?" What he actually meant by 'better.' Oh, but any exercise-pertinent questions should be directed at my brother, the resident expert, owing to his two-month bout of weightlifting.

Ahem. *clears throat*

[rant] If I want you to comment on my body, I'll wear hoochie shirts and ass-baring miniskirts so you could see exactly where I lost those six pounds and the tone my leg muscles are nicely developing. [/rant]

Not that you'd care because, well, I'm still not Cindy Crawford. Come back and speak to you when Sports Illustrated comes knocking, until then, toil away in your meaningless little existence with your tragically flawed writing.

As the good father that he is, I'm now the proud owner of a psychology manual on how and why everything that constitutes life's affirmations and self-esteem comes from a happy, meaningful, contractually-bound heterosexual union. Because obviously, my priorities at this point in my life are skewed if I'm not doing everything within my power to land a husband.

I can't change lanes properly because I glance in my blind spot before not swerving but making a calculated drift. Apparently, I've driven that past incident-free 50,000+ miles by grace and a flock of angels alone.

God bless him.

To anyone I had made dinner plans with in the next few days, please don't take it personally if I call in dead.

I would like to propose a toast.

To friendship, good health, responsible substance use and taking chances. Here's to many happy returns.

And possibly my mom's mashed sweet potatoes.

*points up*

Iconage! Snarky, sparkly, festive iconage just for meeeee!

With the elaborate, high-maintenance plumage and rhinestones and the most ostentatiously girly man's signature I've ever seen and squeeee!

Hugs and credit go to the lovely and talented pierydys. Hope everyone had a happy turkey day!