As usual, I have a nasty cough hanging on after the cold. Actually, I never know if it's just a cough hanging on or if it's turning into something worse.
Yesterday, I was thinking that it would have been much easier in the 19th century, when I could just label it "consumption." So that's what I'm calling it. I'm consumptive. I need people to come over and tuck the piano cover around my legs and perhaps start crying as they contemplate how much I mean to them.
I've always been more of a Jo March than a Beth. But the Brontes were all strange and moody, and they got to have consumption, right? Clearly an angelic temperment is not a prerequisite. So it could be consumption after all.
Now, where did that piano cover go?
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment