Warning: The text may be a little gross.

I will submit that sickness, in general, can be categorized in a number of levels:

[*]Level 1 sickness would merely be sniffles or the occasional cough.
[*]Two would be where you're just uncomfortable in general and would much prefer lying down for days at a time as opposed to normal human function.
[*]Level three entails temperatures and bodily pains and hot and cold flashes. Still not so bad though.
[*]You completely lose control of your organs at level four, however, and come to the assumption in as little as 13.8 seconds within this state that the only cure to this most odious of maladies would be their swift and definite excision.

I've not hit level four for years, and yet, here I am.

I wish that viruses or bacteria or whatever else it is that I've somehow managed to stuff myself with would pick better days and better dinners to rear their ugly heads over. As it stands I feel a bit overly acquainted with spaghetti sauces and am drafting several diabolical schemes to have them rendered quite illegal in North America.

I got this from my father, who, I feel a little silly for not realizing what his problem was when he called me yesterday evening desperately requesting some form of lemon-lime soda. I bought three singles of it, two of which are already gone.

On a sidenote, I've accidentally purchased one of those sodas to be the disgusting low-calorie variant. No points for guessing which of them he's left for me.

Oh, but I rant, again. I'm not bedridden very often so I feel like this is a very opportune time to re-establish the camaraderie between me and the users of this site. Just don't stand too close, unless you're a particularly masochistic individual who enjoys being afflicted with botulism.