a diary from the medicine aisle
Sore throat. Runny nose. Big guy sitting on my chest.
Hmm.
I only have two options.
A) I can never speak again (which is a very real threat with the way my throat is burning) and move to a silent retreat, living out the rest of my days unable to squeal girlishly over whatever slashy object falls within my grasp.
B) I can take some of this violent red liquid.
I'm so torn.
Hmm.
I only have two options.
A) I can never speak again (which is a very real threat with the way my throat is burning) and move to a silent retreat, living out the rest of my days unable to squeal girlishly over whatever slashy object falls within my grasp.
B) I can take some of this violent red liquid.
I'm so torn.