Shit, I Have Shingles



It's time for some Tales from the Couchside...or the pain meds have given me a moment of relief so I'm blogging...or something like that.

Work with me, people, I feel like shit on a shingle.

Wait, no, strike that.

I feel like, "Shit, I have shingles."

Woot.

I'm not sure what the next week or so is going to look like for me in terms of manuscript writing, blogging, Lady Parties, and the like. It will probably be spotty at best.

You see what I did there?

Mr. Potter is out of town until Monday. Mr. Potter has been traveling every winter for years. Every winter during his month long absence something tragic happens. I fell down the stairs when we lived on the side of a cliff and had to wear a boot, which proved challenging when driving our daughter to school every morning. Once I thought my purse had been stolen and we canceled all of the credit and debit cards only to find the purse moments later, and I had no money or access to money for several weeks. That same trip a chicken died and my computer went on the fritz. That was a trifecta, or a trifuckta to be more apt. I had to bury the chicken and wave a dead chicken at the computer on the same day. It's a techie term, follow the link. Last year the basement flash flooded and the alarm was triggered and I had to wade through knee deep water in the spider filled basement of our 200 year old stone rental house while our insane landlord yelled at me.

Ain't we got fun?

No, not really. Thanks for asking.

I have to go pop another anti-viral pill, and think happy spot free thoughts. Tune in later this week for more riveting Tales from the Couchside. Get the shingles vaccine, trust me.

xoxo,
Madge


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