I'm still sick, but I'm actually feeling much better. My temperature right now is at a healthy 98.6 degrees, which means I'm about 4 degrees cooler than I was at this time yesterday. Apparently it was quite warm yesterday, I wouldn't know, because I spent the entire afternoon turning off the airconditioner and shivering under blankets. But the fever's gone, the congestion is mostly gone (thanks Dimetap, screw you no-drip nasal spray), the sore throat's gone, and my voice is gone. Yep, the no-voice thing is a new one. I spent the entire morning speaking in husky whispers until about 2pm when my vocal stylings improved to the level of "12 year old boy going through 'the change.'" My life is glamorous, no?
But anyway, my real reason I came back to post was because Abby set her house on fire. It reminded me of a story.
Once, about five or six years ago, I was sick. (I know, shocking, I usually have a perfect immune system, like Dwight Shrute.) So, yeah. I was sick. And 15. So you know I was all kinds of lazy and inattentive. Also I was hungry. Seeing as I was suffering so greatly, I really didn't want to make anything that required more kitchen utensils than a toaster. So I popped a toaster pastry (it was like a poptart but it had a flakier crust) in the toaster and settled back on the couch to dive back in to whatever THS-esque show I was so engrossed in. By the time the second commercial break rolled around, I realized I never heard the toaster pop up. I look over to the kitchen, and the room is fuzzy. Because it's filled with SMOKE. I run in, and there are FLAMES shooting out of my TOASTER! What's a girl to do? I went and got my daddy. He put the fire out and bought us a new toaster. I've been outsmarted by quite a few appliances in my day, but that toaster was the only one i've caused to burst into flames. So far.