My bedside table needs a bedside table.

Last night my therapist asked if I was becoming depressed about being sick for so long.  I responded by bursting into tears.  That in turn only made my head feel worse.

She had a point though.  I am d




and also angry about my half-ass health, so I’ve decided to stage an Intervention.

Dear Cold,
Your behavior has affected me negatively in the following ways:

  • By allowing me to only breathe through my mouth, I work harder every moment of every day.  Please keep in mind I am pregnant you asshat.
  • By demanding long, jagged coughing fits I must always wear a pad.  If I forget the pad then I have to change my pants immediately or as soon as I can get home.  In meantime I wear my own urine.  When finally home that means more laundry.  You dick.
  • By clogging up every cavity in my head I am thicker, heavier, slower and feel ugly all the time.  Please keep in mind I have a 3-year-old.
  • Your incessant presence allows my eyes, cheeks, nose and forehead to enjoy a constant dull ache.
  • You have destroyed the skin on my face despite my sleeping in a nightly mask of Vaseline.  I despise you.
  • Your relentless onslaught forces me awake no less than six times every night to drink almost a liter of water.  I am exhausted.  See above.
  • Like a true monster, you have become immune to any medicine.  Afrin is my only weapon and I can’t use it every day lest my nostrils become addicted.  Are you kidding me?
  • I had five months of free mornings until my newborn arrives.  Half-way through and you have dominated and decimated any hope of meeting my goals.  Fuck you.
  • You have become my normal and that, you turd, I cannot tolerate.

Piss off,
Your Host

Therapy.  If you can’t fix your problem at least you can write about it.

I’ve just about had it with you too Herbal Tea.


5 thoughts on “Intervention

  1. Pingback: Appreciation « Black Panty Salvation

  2. Pingback: Not On My Watch | Black Panty Salvation

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