The flu.
It's been around from the very beginning, and yet we still haven't found a cure. And it's this which makes me question my existence, and the existence of the entire human race.
First, you've got the tissues.
"Oh, what bed? How can I even make my bed if I can't see it? Oh, that's right, there it is; under the mountain of tissues..."
To be honest, I don't think they actually do anything apart from make you look like Rudolph. And they crease really easily- do you know how annoying that is?
Then, you've got the wimps:
(Which is me, but just bear with me, 'kay?)
Apparently, there are two different types of the flu. Regular flu, and man flu.
Regular illness. Macho illness.
BECAUSE THERE'S A DIFFERENCE.
I also got a box of tissues the other day, but no, they weren't regular tissues... They were *drum roll* MAN TISSUES!!!
BECAUSE THERE'S A DIFFERENCE.
This annoys me so much, and I know it's a sort of joke, but when I'm in this critical state of self-doubt and pity- I can't be bothered with man jokes.
The feminist inside of me can't even be bothered to come out and rant about the female influence in the tissue and marketing industry. Don't. Even. Bother.
I almost forgot to mention the fact that you go from feeling like the north pole to goddamn Hawaii.
I ain't messing around with hula skirts, y'all.
No comment, Luce. No comment.
I just want a hug, a blanket, a cup of tea and Netflix. Let's just forget about school.
IF ONLY.
If you see me next week at all: run. Run far, far away. One so that you don't have to hear me rant and two so that you don't catch the plague.
You'll know when to come back because the sneezing will stop.
Fly On, and remember your man size tissues!
Luce xxx
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