Dear Diary: I Got the F*ckin’ Flu


So, you may have noticed my Tuesday Merc Rule went up late. And my Thursday Merc Rule still hasn’t been posted. Good job. Keep it up and you just might make detective. To quote Princess Bride,”Yes, yes, you’re very smart. Shaddup.”

I’m not cranky. You’re cranky. 

But seeing as you’re a regular Sherlock, you probably also noticed that this ain’t a Flapjack. But rather, a blog about why it ain’t a Flapjack. Well, I could drone on about eating without the wondrous savor of functioning taste buds… Or navigating my waking hours in the hellacious peaks and valleys of Dayquil and Nyquil.

Speaking of which, since when is Nyquil spelled with a Y? What the hell?

I digress.

But if you read the title of this blog, then you already know that I’ve been sleeping 14 hours a day for the last three days. When you already have sleep apnea, being congested puts a real damper on your beauty sleep. Hell, even your ugly sleep. And believe you me… it was ugly.

Imagine waking up feeling like you got beat over the head with a sack of solid, pointy-edged bricks made out of crucible-hardened horse shit. Then imagine getting out of bed, planning on hauling your sorry ass to work. Except you’re so groggy you ain’t rightly sure what day it is. Well, that started Tuesday morning at the stroke of midnight-oh-one. So I’ve been dealing with this crap all week. And let me tell you, toddler transmitted flu is a military-grade biological weapon.

If you don’t believe me, I’d be happy to send you a sample. I have an entire trash can full of them, just waiting to be shipped off.

Enough grousing.

I will get Thursday’s Merc Rule up before the next Tuesday Merc Rule, to keep things on schedule. But it probably won’t happen until Saturday.

At best.

Also, I’ve almost beaten Horizon: Zero Dawn. 

Don’t judge me.

Until next time…

Go forth and conquer,

J. D.

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