Dear Head,

Please do not explode. 

I understand you are full of snot and boogers and whatever else comes with this Sorry Piece of Shit Cold.  But, honestly, if you explode, then that will just add to the mess of laundry, dishes and vacuuming I have already been neglecting. 

Not to mention the fact that it is only a bit past noon, and I've been waiting for nap time since 10 o'clock this morning.  I mean, honest to goodness, what is wrong with me?  I have already slept the better part of winter away.  My body is all, Don't want to snow this year, Mother Nature?  Fuck you, I'm going back to bed.  With a solid two months of pure, unadulterated hibernation, one would think I'd be healthy enough not to catch the worst plague to hit this house. 

Seriously, Head, if you explode, I'm sure all that will come out would be the GALLONS of water I've been sucking down, and the GALLONS of snot that I continue to blow through my painfully raw nostrils.  In fact, there wouldn't even be any brain matter.  I'm certain of this since I've found I can't seem to form a decent, concise, non-rambling sentence to save my life.

And might I also add... I have no fucking clue what Kyra is talking about.  Ever.  She talks and talks and talks and, I don't know if its just she's extra chatty this week or if my lack of brain matter is causing me to stare at her like an episode of Charlie Brown is playing out in front of me.  Wah wah wah, wa-wah wah wahhhh...  Honestly, though.  She talks, I listen, she continues, I'm fucking lost.

All this is to say, please, Head, do not explode.  I'm not sure Jeremy is ready, or willing, to handle two small children, two lazy dogs and a neglected household all by himself. 

And I feel like shit.  Shouldn't that be enough torture, already?

Now, if you'll excuse me, its 1 o'clock.  And its taken me more then a half hour to write this shitty post.  I'm going to bed.  Just as soon as I get the girls tucked in. 

And threaten their lives to stay that way for the next two hours.