Sophie does. not. care. She is licking my lower leg…exfoliating it…as I wallow on the comfy chair. I cannot muster a firm enough MOM voice to convince her this is not a good idea.

I am coming back from the dead. From the land where fever and chills and teeth rattling shakes go hand in hand with THE PURGE. Twenty four hours of eternal gratefulness for indoor plumbing. Because without the modern marvels of fresh running water and the flushable loo there would’ve been no reason to go on. No reason to LIVE if I knew I was going to have to clean up after myself.

I believe the worst is past, KNOCK ON WOOD, despite the relocation of the Superbowl from Indiannopolis to the interior regions of my head. Grown men, BOTH TEAMS, are tossing themselves around between my ears. Large men, HUGE men running jumping smashing, crashing without ANY regard to my feeling on the matter.

All this whining has made me tired. Off to bed with me now. Tomorrow is another day.