so sick. & the story of the killer squirrel.

Omg. My head is going to explode. My ears are "full". I'm coughing like there is no tomorrow. (if there really was no tomorrow, why would I want to spend my last day coughing?) I'm clammy. Ugh. Want. To. Die.

I need/want to check up on all of you. But I can't seem to stay in an upright position.


updated:

After talking about the plague with Sarah, I wanted to tell you all the story of The Not So Friendly Squirrel (or The Really Stupid Girl Named Nancy Who Thought Squirrels are for Petting.).

I was living in Arizona at the time and a friend from Baltimore came out to visit. He's never seen the desert, so I took him to the Grand Canyon. When we got there, we did the normal oohing and aahing then headed down the trail. No, we weren't going to hike the grand canyon, but we did take a nice hike down about 1/2 mile.

There were lots of squirrels on the path, as lots of visitors bring lots of snacks. This one particular squirrel looked so damned tame and fluffy that I had the "petting" urge. Don't ask why. I know squirrels aren't the petting type. But here I am, sticking my hand out to pet the damned thing.

It looked all cute and charming as I approached. It's big black eyes looking at me all sadlike, his tail all fluffy, his hands in front of him as he stood on his hind legs.

And then he turned into this maniacal looking rodent who bared his teeth and bit the shit out of my hand.

I tried to act all cool. My friend was like "what the fuck did you do that for?? Did he bite you?" And I said "No, I just got too close. He didn't bite me."

We walk back up with me keeping my hand behind my back is it was literally pouring blood. The bit was deep and on the fingertip - right where it bleeds ~a lot~. We get out of the path area and I see a sign "Don't feed the squirrels. They have been known to carry the plague".

THE PLAGUE.

Holy shit. The plague. That's an awfully scary word to think of when you think of an illness YOU may have been infected with. My mind goes back to the stories of the Black Death of Europe in the 1300s. Where I've seen images of people decomposing while still alive, oozing black pus. Ugh. (Although I was wrong in which kind of plague I was freaking out about - for I could have contracted the bubonic plague, the classic sign being the appearance of buboes in the groin, the neck and armpits, which oozed pus and bled - which isn't much more appealing).

I go into a panic. I start thinking I need to get the plague out of my body immediately. I think of how they suck out the poision from snake bites and go with that, knowing damn well it's been too long for any such thing to work. But I suck on that bite. I suck and spit mouthful after mouthful of blood. Mind you, all the while pretending nothing was wrong. My friend didn't notice at all, as he was ahead of me walking around.

Seriously, for weeks I waited for the sign of the plague to fall upon me. Thankfully, it never did hit me. Unless it waited, hiding inside me, only to strike now - 12 years later.