Poor ol' Debra is not having a good time right now.

She's spent a few days mostly on the couch blowing her nose and trying not to talk because when she does, she coughs. (Bummer. Can't even talk to myself now.) She's still trying to get over the stupid cold she caught two weeks ago, downing lots of Vitamin C and every other natural thing she can read about.

And here she thought she was so healthy. phooey.

And then yesterday she had a dentist appointment and the dental cleaning from, well, you-know-where. The mean old hygenist had to (gross alert) puncture her gum and make it bleed just because it was all swollen, painful and in danger of infection. "Best thing for it, I'm afraid. Sorry." she said, making pitying noises.

I wanted to sock her.

And did I mention that my one and only good ear is plugged up? And that we had another house showing last night, so I had to peel myself off the couch and grab up all the used kleenex and water glasses and etc. and clean, clean, clean? And that we have another showing tonight?

After all that yesterday, I had to lecture myself. "Debra, you will not feel sorry for yourself. You will not attend a single pity party. You will watch what you say, what with the power of life and death being in the tongue, and all... And you won't let yourself get so down that it will take a whole bus load of Christians to pull you back up." I'm not sure yet if I listened to myself. But I guess I tried. Yesterday, anyway.

This morning, though, when Tom got home from work, I did, well, morph into Nelly Negative while wilting on the couch, moaning how I just know we're gonna be stuck in this town for another long winter (snow's coming tonight) and how we should have put the house up for sale a couple months earlier and how I want to move to Mt. Airy, like, right this minute and would he please make up his mind what we're gonna do with the rest of our lives?

But Tom knows when I get like that the best thing is just to nod, make understanding noises and say, "I'll see what I can do." And wait for me to get over it.

Well anyway, just thought I'd tell you where I've been, cuz I've not been down here at the computer. Nope, you'd have to look upstairs, on our couch, and that's where you'd find me. That is, if I were to let you inside the house. Nobody's gonna see me lookin' like this today. Nobody except Tom, that is. Poor guy.


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So has anyone ever tried 'oil pulling' as described here? I thought I'd try it. My poor ol' mouth and my poor ol' head need all the help they can get.