nasal passage

Dear God,
I can't breathe. This is how my life is going for two days, continuously, every three minutes: I sneeze, sniffle, blow my nose, cough and then my eyes water. Sneeze. Sniffle. Blow ... got it?

My husband brought this germ home. He says, "Pablo gave it to me." Sounds fishy to me. He's never mentioned a Pablo. Throughout our home and in both vehicles we have hand sanitizer. We are supposed to sanitize. Continuously! Pablo's mist made its way into my sanctuary. The husband stayed in bed for two days. Then the poor little six-month-old baby got it. Baby went on antibiotics. Youngest daughter, now me. I cursed my symptom-free daughter and told her I couldn't wait for her to get it since she seemed to think we were such exaggerated, dramatic people she has to endure living with. I don't think it's a good parent who curses viruses on their children, but if you had seen her face, you would have done the same exact thing. Trust me.

There's nothing left to do in this situation but to take drugs. I know, I know. Here's a pill, there's a pill. Pill popper. I just can't see suffering. I'm pretty sure Jesus would have taken something too. Anyway ... Sudafed. AKA: pseudoephedrine, AKA: crack. It's almost midnight. I only took half of the recommended dose cause I'm ultra sensitive and I'm messed up.

Every three minutes has now spread out to about every 15 minutes and that is so cool. My hair's a fright. I am in extremely mix-matched clothes and my family disappeared hours ago without telling me goodnight. My family's frightened. Thanks a-freaking-lot, frickin Pablo, ghost boy. Retard.