Warning: a whole lotta griping ahead

You know that place?

That place where you cry.
That place where you cry even knowing it will only make the pain worse.
That place where even a white mocha peppermint latte can't help you feel better?
I'm in that place.

That place where your throat feels like it's being scraped by sandpaper with every excruciating cough.
That place where you head feels like it is being filled with concrete though your ears.
I hate that place.

I am stuck in the middle of that place. I've been stuck here for three miserable days and it has only gotten worse.

But you know what makes it better? I have no sick time left at work. I will next week. Next week I'll have plenty of sick time. This week? Nope.

Okay, maybe that question was a bit sarcastic, but can you blame me? I think I just coughed up a lung. I gotta do something...even it it's just griping about my pain to my unsuspecting readers. All four of you. (and that's counting my mother and eldest sister.)

Hey, at least I warned you first.

Now excuse me while I go cough up my other lung.

Um, Eww!

We all know that winter is the 'sick' season. Kids and co-workers pass germs around like they are going out of style. So why, oh WHY, would someone take a drink from my glass?

Yeah. My glass. Sitting on my desk. Nobody around.

How do I know? Because I hadn't taken a drink yet. Because it was a clear glass. Because it was a chocolate diet drink (really gross by the way). Because there was lipstick on the rim. And, of course, my co-workers all denied having done it.

Normally, I wouldn't freak out about someone I know taking a drink from my cup. But this was just TOO weird. Maybe a lipstick wearing, chocolate loving ghost slipped a quick sip while I was away from my desk. Or maybe one of my lipstick wearing co-workers stole the sip and were too embarrassed to admit it.

But it's okay; because the joke is on them.

Not for the faint of Heart

I was reading this post over at The Ranch on Salmon Creek and was inspired to (over)share of bit of my own Adventures in Ick.

And it's late so my mush-brain posting may be a bit sporadic.

I have three sisters. We are all married. My father, two of my brother-in-laws and my husband all hunt...avidly. *some more than others, but that will become evident I'm sure*

My dad likes hunting, but LOVES fishing. I grew up fishing. I also grew up cleaning my own fish. Pulling it's guts out; not washing it with soap and water. (told you this would be gross) But even before I was old enough to be trusted with a knife I still got to play with fish innards. Why? Because I was curious. because my dad caught lots of fish. and because I stuck to him like a tick on a dog.

But I didn't play with just any fish organ. I went straight for the heart. Anybody else hear that song? no? just me? Moving on. I liked the heart because it would often still be beating when I got my dirty little hands on it. Holding that little triangularish heart in my hand, I would watch it beat until it stopped. It always amazed me that it could still beat even after being cut from the fish. Until one of them squirted blood all over me. I wasn't so keen on them after that.