on gingerale and on strike

Sometimes, of a Sunday morning when I am confined to my bed, the only thing to do besides wonder whether Sam will return from church promptly and whether it's time to dust your ceiling is curse your digestive system.

You see, my digestive system really has been on strike for the last week {my stomach turned vegetarian? Vegan? Gingeralean?}. All I know is that it hates - HATES anything except for ginger ale, which I have been consuming voraciously, you can take my word for it.

My headstrong digestive system is making me cancel our plans for our weekend staycation! How inconsiderate, right? The absolute nerve! We even had to stay home from our mocktail party last night. No virgin margaritas, no black birdcage veil, no red lipstick. It was really quite depressing.

Thus. I am home. And really the deepness of my own thinkings really gets me. Just in the last half-hour, I've thoroughly contemplated the pros and cons of eating a saltine cracker, whether Sam got the mail yesterday, and how to fix the public education system.

Which makes me smarter, but way more boring than a mocktail party.

My cute little brother even came to visit us yesterday. You know, the smart one, who's so funny, and gets into all the colleges he wants. That brother. And I barely even could walk around the block with said brother and the hairy one on a leash. Lame, am I right? All the fault of my digestive organs, am I right? 

And then, while I was making dinner for them and trying not to vomit (which would have put a serious damper on the flavor of the dinner, as you know), I cut a gash in my own thumb. Which was a) quite stupid of me, and b) did not help matters.  Although my band-aid does make for some pretty hilarious misspelled texts.

Band-aid texting: To Mr. Churchgoinghusband: "ohhows"

To Katie: "gladnyou srtahrted"

And in cases like that, autocorrect only goes so far.

So, I am left with my band-aid thumb, my visciously on-strike tummy, and what's left of my sanity as I brood about in bed this morning.

And, because Every Post Should Have a Picture, here's the hairy one himself:

and this quote that I whipped up of a sickday morning.

And that is the gospel truth. The end.