Not OK

My health is the worst kinda health anyone could ask for. I've always known I was a talker. It got me into a lot of trouble as a kid...Always had my name on the board...Never got a Barbie doll for being student of the week. It sucked, but I just couldn't shut up. I swear this didn't start when I started school either. I've always been a talker...I was a talker when I was in the angel line waiting for the things you wait for when you're about to be born. We've already established that I talked my way right of the boob line. I think I was also too busy chatting when it was time to grab some good health because I'm forever sick.

When people give me their measly germs I don't just get what they had. I get it 10 times worse and then some. I spent the ENTIRE weekend asleep and I still feel like hell got her period and bitch slapped me with her powerful fury. (Can I get a Master P, "Uhhhhhhhhhh"?)

That would be whatever if I wasn't also going through the worst of the worst times with my relationship, career aspirations and everything else. All I could do was lay in bed and focus on the fact that I'm not moving forward. Everything's moving backwards like some stupid Benjamin Button shat. You're turning 30 so why don't I just reward you with the feeling that you're worthless and you can't do shat for yourself, Tishy. It's like your 13. You said you didn't want to grow up, right?

Being sick with a crack-like imagination is not good chicken soup for the soul.


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