Making sense

Anne Lamott, on writing ...

"We are a species that needs and wants to understand who we are. Sheep lice do not seem to share this longing, which is one reason why they write so little. But we do. We have so much we want to say and figure out.”

Wednesday, March 19, 2014

And the Award for Worst Sick Person in the World Goes To ...

I win that horrible award.
I am the worst sick person in the world, not because what ails me is terminal, but because what
ails me makes everyone around me miserable. If I am coughing or sneezing or feverish or headache-y or toothache-y, you're going to hear about it.
My poor husband. He is out of town now, on business.
Or is he?
Maybe he just needed to get away.

Hoarse Haiku:

My poor sweet husband
Is sick of my complaining
Is divorce coming?

I must be dying
Didn't read patient info
Just swallowed the pills.

What fresh hell is this?
How much snot can one nose make?
Can a cold kill me?


No comments: