Okay.

Seriously now. 

Brace yourselves for some really bad news. I mean REALLY bad news.

Ready?

This could possibly be the last blog post from me that you'll ever read.

(I know. It saddens me too. I can't even think about it without emotions welling up all over the place.)

But...

I’m dying.

No really! I mean, I really think that I’m actually DYING!

I stayed home from work today.

Can you believe that?

Truly.

And I did…NOTHING!

I’m serious.  That’s how bad it is.

I’m really, really, really, REALLY sick!

Listen to this!  My temperature, as of two minutes ago, was 99.1!

I mean, come on, man! 98.6 is normal.  I’m a whole freaking HALF OF A DEGREE above that!

(Doesn’t that constitute a fever?)

Before that, (three minutes before that, as a matter of fact), my temperature was 99.3!

A minute and a half before that, it was 99.00.

See what I mean?
I’m dying here, man!

I’ve got…the chills. I mean, real chills!

I’m burning up.

And I get NO sympathy whatsoever from Mary Ellen.  None.

I mean, does she get me ginger ale? Yes.

Does she get my lunch? Uh-huh.

Does she do all of my chores for me, like haul in the wood for burning and such?
Yes,

Does she cook me dinner? I can smell her marvelous homemade spaghetti sauce wafting through the house as I type this!

But, does she feel sorry for me? Does she understand that I’m standing on Death’s back porch? Does she even care that my throat is scratchy? I mean REALLY SCRATCHY?

No.  She just rolls her eyes, pats me on the head, and murmurs something about “Men”!

WHAT?

I sneezing here, man!

My chest hurts.

A cold?

You’re out of your mind!

My hands are clammy. How in the hell can this be just a cold?

“This cold you wave away as naught/ Is the damnedest cold Man ever caught!/ The cold of which researchers dream./ The Colossal Cold! The Cold Supreme!”

When she wakes up tomorrow morning, and I don’t…THEN she’ll be sorry!