i find myself sick again, coughing and sneezing at whoever’s unfortunate enough to lay in my virus-plagued path.
i think my immune system is waging a war against me and it’s definitely winning. it’s armed with nukes and a-bombs and all i have is a measly little pitchfork to defend myself with. i shall tie a white cloth to the end of it and dig it into the dirt, as if to say “you win! i surrender! just please don’t last until the weekend!”
my father, still trying ever so hard to reform me from my sinful ways, insists that this new illness is a result of my late night outings.
i’m sure it’s just some onset of spring fever.
on the plus side, i like the way my voice sounds when i’m sick.