I’m sick again. This time, it’s some sort of stomach thing. I’ve been atop the porcelain plinth many times in the last two days. So many times, in fact, that I am really, really sore. Even nice, gentle, flushable wipes are like some sort of medieval torture right now.
Too much info? Too bad. This is my journal, and I intend to talk about my increasingly mundane life, in living color. This is what I’m dealing with today, so here it is.