Dear Diary,
I've been sick. I've been sick for about a hundred years and four days. I'm still sick; but now I'm well enough to lay here with this iPad and tell you all about it.
Don't worry, Dear Diary, I'm not missing work. This is the week I took off work to play with my Seester-in-law. She drove all the way from Arizona to come and play. I hear she is having a good time at my Beeg Seester's house, but she was supposed to stay here.
She would have stayed in our guest room. The one with the en suite I have been working so hard to re-finish for ever-so-long. You know; the bathroom-that-never-ends. I had a lot of trouble with that bathroom, but I kept after it because I was very excited about this visit-I'm-not-currently-having with my Seester-in-law.
In fact, I had just installed the floor trim, and was finishing up the room with some decorative touches when my stomach first began making serious objections to being occupied.
Dear Diary, I have eaten so many Popsicles in the six days and two viruses since then, that I could build a model home using the sticks. And, Diary, I don't mean a model size home; I mean a model home.
I would not put any bathrooms in my model home, though, Diary, and I'll tell you why.
I have laid the floor trim in that guest bathroom IN EVERY, SINGLE, FEVERED AND DELIRIOUS DREAM I have had in the last six loooooong days and nights in this bed.
And, Dear Diary, it's never gone well even once.
I'm just too weak to do it again.
I'm sorry.
But, I am.