Mortal Flesh

In the past weeks I have suffered from the following ailments:

1.) Tennis Elbow
2.) Huge Juicy heel Blisters (*&%#!! cute shoes!)
3.) Broken Cat scratched skin
4.) 1st degree hand burns from boiling hot Italian Wedding Soup
5.) A purple to blue to green to yellow bruise the size of a Ritz cracker on my thigh
6.) Mild Dehydration
7.) 1st degree arm burns from a toaster oven
8.) Menstration
9.) Vodka/Tequila housewarming hangover from hell
10.) Voracious Hunger

All evidence that I am mortal. While humbling, this, indeed, is no way to live. My hand is Swamp thing right now. And I'm pretty sure I won't be able to fall asleep for a while tonight because I'll be too overstimulated by staring at the computer all day.

It's times like these I wish I was a cat. But then again, I'd have to wait for my asshole owner to feed me, take a shower with my tongue, and not be able to force my boyfriend to massage my elbow while cruising ebay for a decent set of printed bedsheets that are not toile, flower related, sports fannery, or "ethnic."

Life. "What a doozy."