Is "uvula" a dirty word?

I have strep throat. Again. It's approximately the 19th time I've had it in the past two years, so it's lost most of its sympathy points and moved on to just plain annoying.

Those are my tonsils, not a dirty picture.

Instead of people being like, "Oh I'm so sorry! I'll buy you some ice cream and massage your head!" they're all like, "Again, Amanda? What do you keep doing to infect yourself?" As if I keep getting genital warts instead of spotty swollen tonsils inflamed with Hell's own special brand of white-hot volcano fire.

I took my doctor's note to my manager, who gave me one of those "how dare you!" looks and walked away. I was like, "Thanks, I will get better soon!" It's not like I wanted to miss 14 hours of work; that's at least $100 even if I was still making minimum wage, and I enjoy being able to keep my car, home, insurance, and electricity. But that's not what this post is about; it's about how pitiful I am, and in need of some nice chicken broth.

After I shelled out $20 (of my mom's money) for the antibiotic that would put out the fire in my throat, I drove home sleepily and laid down with Luke. Luke is my dog, for all you morons who didn't read my last post. He was very understanding of how bad I felt, so he did his best to comfort me.

Also he ate some of my sour cream & onion chips while I was in the bathroom. Jerk.

Kacy left for work a few minutes after I got home because she didn't care how I felt. Such a cold-hearted bitch. Actually she left her ibuprofen with and told Luke to behave for me. He stared solemnly into her soul, then licked her face. We translated that as, "yeah right, loser!" What he was actually saying was more like, "I'll behave if behaving means walking across Other Mommy's ribs repeatedly, crinkling the pages of the book she's reading, and barking at phantom rabid spiders while she sleeps to mess with her dreams." It was a very relaxing afternoon.

My belly is not pleased with my throat for the roadblock. All I've eaten is ice cream because it doesn't scratch, burn, or make me want to stab a rusty fork into my jugular. Last time I had strep, all I wanted to eat were bacon-chili-cheese-dogs. I don't recommend that practice.

To supplement my restless fever-induced dreams, I read a little of Stephen King's "Under the Dome" before napping. In case you aren't familiar with the story, I'll fill you in a bit. An invisible undetectable impenetrable dome spontaneously arises around this small town in Maine. Everyone goes crazy, riots break out, the military tries to intervene but can't help, and nobody knows how it happened or how to get rid of it. When people go too close to the wall of the Dome they have seizures and prophesy about what will happen to their town. Super-creepy. I haven't finished it yet so I can't spoil the end for you. In my delirious sleep I became certain my bed was in an unbreakable bubble and if I sat up my head would hit it and be electrocuted.

Tossing and turning, suffocating from the hallucination of decreased oxygen, was how I spent most of my afternoon.

In other news, here's Luke's drivers license picture.