I think my kidney infection is returning, which is about as much fun as you’d expect. That alone would be bad enough, but I’ve got some other symptoms that have me running to the Internet to diagnose myself to save paid professionals the trouble. It’s never a good idea to do this; less so when it’s disgusting – and besides which, I haven’t had any luck at all. Based on the happenings in my pants, I either have sixteen cancers OR I’ve been having a lot of unprotected sex with diseased strangers in my sleep. It’s clearly an either-or situation I’m dealing with here; there couldn’t possibly be any middle ground that could be dealt with using antibiotics. Nope. Impossible.
I know I said I didn’t have any resolutions for 2013, but I did whisper some to myself when no one was looking and I am DAMN SURE that “no more kidney problems” on the list. Also, I thought my vagina and I had worked our differences out and we were cool now. This is not a good time to learn that my womanly garden is a back-stabbing bitch out to sabotage me – I have hilarious things to do, and all of this is cramping my style (no pun intended).
Ow, and fuck.