I'm not dead yet.

But I damn near wish for it.

My fun little cough has magniplied into a beast of inescabable suckage and pain.

I cough so hard that my muscles hurt and my throat is so sore that when I breathe, I can feel the tenderness.

Complete suckage.

Stack that with the 75-80% usual breathing rate do to sniffles and muccuss and other fun things, and you are close to me wanting to kill or be killed.

Not breathing, even slightly, is the suckiest thing in the world.

No puns there-in were intended.

So I'm surviving, but only just.

Only with the hope that I think I'm done now, and by done I mean near future.

I hope.

Things are coming.

I plan on writing, but didn't want this be what you read upfront when you opened my blog today.

I have another thing for you to read.

It's almost time to start posturing again, but the person that has the green light on this operation won't use it.

That's fine. It's her perogative, but I felt that this could be a more peaceful way to resolve it than the good ol' knock on the door.

We'll see what she says about that.