cat named pig

Who knew? Who knew I could feel such a deep and fiery hatred for a calendar event I used to look forward to more than anything except Christmas?

If I had to illustrate the week so far in a photo essay (which I can’t, because I am too tired and just generally defeated to go look for the camera), it would be just one photo of me, head buried in my hands, weeping silently. Possibly with my kids in the background beating each other to death with the same two or three toys they won’t stop fighting over. Possibly also with my husband (let’s pretend he isn’t the one taking the picture) in the background relaxing with his laptop, scanning Tweetdeck and casually asking if I want to buy tickets to a show or get a midweek hotel deal. Clearly, Spring Break is not affecting him in the same way it is me.

Maybe that’s because I happen to be dying, slowly and miserably dying, my life’s force ebbing as I type this. . . and from what? From a cold. I mean, it’s not just any cold; it’s the Worst Cold Ever, but I almost wish it was something worse, like malaria, so you would understand the depths of my misery here. A cold is just (*shrug*) something that’s kind of a bummer, everyone gets them, etc. Malaria, on the other hand, garners some respect. Anyway, I guess it doesn’t matter what I’m dying of — the important thing to note is that this post may be my last. Whether Spring Break causes me to off myself, or whether I succumb to the Worst Cold in the History of Colds, No Seriously, No One Has Ever Been This Sick From a Stupid Cold, I may not be around much longer. . . .

I leave all my worldly belongings to the person who can make my kids stop fighting. (I assume stating my final wishes on my blog is the same as updating my will, right?) Enjoy the iPhone, MacBook, and some clothes that aren’t really in style any more.