Seriously. Love is not too strong of a word here. I have had a raging sore throat for 6 days now. I’ve been popping so many painkillers I’ve lost track of what dose I’m supposed to be on. I was waking up out of a dead sleep to wince, shuffle to the fridge where I’d down a handful of Motrin, and crawl back into bed and lay there for a half an hour until the drugs kicked in and I could sleep again. This sore throat meant business.

Now, after a lovely throat culture (gag), it has been determined that I do indeed have a nasty case of strep throat- for the first time in my life. Two rounds of antibiotics later- I can swallow without contemplating getting an epidural to numb the top half of me. Modern medicine so totally rocks.

My doctor was very compassionate and even gave me tylenol with codiene in it. Being a total featherweight on narcotics, I’ve opted not to use them unless I really have to, seeing as how I’d probably become incoherant and the children would be totally free to steal entire boxes of ice cream from the freezer before breakfast and yank my bed mattress to the floor to create a soft landing spot for when they catapult themselve off the boxsprings, and give stuffed animals baths in my expensive cookware outside in the sand box. Oh wait. . .they did all that before I was drugged and while I was lucid. I can’t even imagine what they could accomplish with me totally out of the picture. Reason #417 of “Why I’ll Never Die”.

And now, dear readers, I’m going to bed.