Gurgle, Gurgle

My stomach is gurgling like Signorney Weaver's in Alien. Why is it, the very SECOND you step out of the shower, you have to go to the bathroom???

Yes, I just had a shower. (No wonder I was itchy yesterday.) It's 5:20 p.m. Alberta time – which is two hours behind most of you, unless you're Sue in England or Denise in Australia, who were both pretty much celebrating the beginning of 2024 when we were opening our presents Christmas morning – and I just had a shower.

It's been that kind of day. Busier than a two-peckered rooster in a henhouse. Looking after my two sickies, who are making obscene coughing and gagging noises in the family room (or maybe they're just watching Lost and Sawyer is punching Doc for the 15th-millionth time), taking down Christmas decorations, doing five loads of laundry and making up fresh beds, cleaning the truffles out of the kitty toilet and making supper ... I feel like I've been run over by a garbage truck. Did I ever tell you I knew someone who got ran over by a garbage truck? Seriously. Nice girl, but she's still picking potato peels out of her hair 15 years later.

Allow me to whine for a moment. Dave won't let me whine – says I whine too much. So I'll just do it quietly ... he'll never know ...

My back hurts. *sniff*

My feet hurt. *wah*

I think maybe, but I'm not sure, my throat is a little bit sore. *peers in mirror with flashlight looking for red spots and sees the obnoxious canker on my tongue that's been spreading holiday joy in my mouth since Boxing Day*

I'm gonna go find the economy size bottle of Tylenol and chug it down with a Diet Coke. I know. I live large. With any luck I'll get a buzz and all my achy bits will stop their caterwauling.

*gurgle, gurgle*

First thing's first, though.

*staggers off to the loo*