Not dead yet

I’m not yet dead.  Which is a song from the first act of Spamalot, and if I was really clever I could link to it and make it play while you read this.  Maybe it’s better that I can’t……

Still coughing, though considerably less.  My voice left me a week ago, and is very slowly coming back.  Truth is, I think I like the new voice, which doesn’t project so much. It’s fun to be able to talk to people without the entire world hearing me.

Mostly, I’m tired.  Deep down bone weary.  This living in the fast lane is fun, and I’d hate to let a little thing like a touch of black lung disease slow me down, but I’m starting to consider spending two days at the Holiday Inn Express in Modesto with just a stack of magazines and two bottles of Nyquil.  Incessant coughing is tiring–there isn’t a muscle in my body that doesn’t ache.  You’d think with all that exercise I might lose some weight, but that isn’t happening either.

I haven’t been writing not only due to lack of energy, but lack of brain power, too. All these good things happening (at least from a blogger point of view), and I didn’t have anything to say.  John McCain says “I never considered myself a maverick”.  Some homophobic Bible thumping Evangelist gets caught touring Europe with an escort hired from Glen Beck says “social justice is code for communism and Marxism”.  I should be having a field day with these clowns, and here I am whining about the ineffectiveness of Robitussin.

I think I’ll take a nap.

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