It must have offended him in some way

Two days ago, while at Walgreens (Walgreens and I are tight, you know, having pneumonia and all) I saw an old man picking up Kleenex boxes and reading the back of them. After he was done, or maybe somewhere in the middle of reading it, he got tired, and threw the box on the ground and picked up another one.

There was already a pile of four or five at his feet, and he was adding to it quickly.

I really wish I knew what was going on there . . .

Doctor, Doctor, Give me the news . . .

And the news is:

Pneumonia!

It's true. For the last two weeks, my body has been sabotaging itself by collecting all sorts of various junk and storing it in my left lung. Way to go me!

It started out as Bronchitis which was being passed around the in-laws and made it's way to my house. Of course I quickly caught onto the trend, but my immune system decided to take Hoilday early, leaving my poor little lungs to fend for themselves - which they didn't.

After seeing the Doctor once and calling her umpteen times, we get to last Wednesday which is the day I tried to go back to work. I'm fine, I thought. It's just a little virus that is being taken care of by the two antibiotics I am on. I am good to go to work.

Fast forward to noon on Wednesday, my co-worker driving me home so that my husband can come get me and take me to the Emergency Room. Why? Because everytime I breathe, and sometimes in between, I feel like there's a little man with a taser inside my chest, laughing sadistically and pulling the trigger. Or, conversely, like I'm in some sequel to Speed, and I can't fill my lung capacity over a certain percent or my chest will explode.

Four hours in the ER later, and my Doctor tells me my lung is disgusting. That's the actual medical term I think, disgusting. So I get new antibiotics, a breathing treatment (which my husband thinks looks like me smoking a hookah and proceeds to take my picture on his cell phone) and I'm ready to go home. No needles, IV's, or blood. Well done.

So let's see: I've probably read 10 or so books, including the whole Twilight saga (that's right, I'm now a giddy teenage girls about those, sorry), watched hours and hours of crap TV while I barely paid attention, and slept a lot. Like, I somehow became one of my cats, I slept so much. Ollie and Opal were quite proud of how lethargic I had to be, I think.

And that's my story. I am felling better, except I am pretty sure I strained several of my chest muscles coughing so much, so coughing is quite a endeavor, and sneezing is completely horrendous. It makes me curse out loud.

My opinion? nobody should get Pneumonia. Not only does it make you feel like you're in the Victorian ages stuck with the plague, but it's just a bad idea in general.

Especially if the little man has a really powerful taser.

My birthday gets overshadowed

But I guess that's what happens when history is getting made right?

On a serious note, I am more relieved that anything that this l-o-n-g process is over. At least for the next 2 and 1/2 years. Or, heck, Palin could be in Alaska planning for 2012 as we speak.

But the yards signs are coming down, I haven't heard a radio ad, haven't seen a tv ad, and Oprah has stopped doing the ugly cry. (Seriously, she was there in Chicago, and CNN kept showing her bawling with her beloved Steadman.)

I'm just going to tell you that I am not saying who I voted for, or what I wanted to get approved. I am taking a completely politics-free holiday for the next several weeks, and I don't want to hear about it.

However, before I leave the realm of politics, I would just like to share with you some words of wisdom from my mother, who used to say this to me a lot when I asked questions about the future, or was upset about something:

'I subscribe to the 'pan' theory. It'll all pan out in the end.'