I am sick

ferris-bueller-sick-day

My body is like the Thunderdome of liquids and solids. Two states enter, but only one leaves. It’s possible that I got this way from eating superannuated macaroni and cheese at the Denver airport Wolfgang Puck. Maybe I got it from being belligerent at the Missoula airport, where I allowed a toddler to open and subsequently drink from my Nalgene bottle just to drive home the point that his parents were not supervising him. Maybe I have some sort of long-term illness that seized air travel as the perfect opportunity to, you know, kill me. Regardless, I am sick. Vomiting is a best-case event. Tomorrow is Christmas, and there will be no Combat! blog then, either. The day after that, I will be a shriveled husk. Don’t cry for me. I’m already dead.

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