Dear Self

Dear Self,
Admittedly, we are bad at being sick. We never have been good at it, but you’ve only gotten worse with age. However, we sound like a thirteen-year-old boy at the moment and we have a headache. Therefore, we must sit in bed and knit for the rest of the day while we watch Lark Rise to Candleford. Do you understand? No more coffee runs. No more yarn shopping-although the yarn we bought today is awesomely gorgeous and we can’t wait to start knitting with it-after we finish the dang-blasted sock. Sit on your arse in your bed and knit. Drink a mug of tea if so inspired. But finish your frappuciano first.
But no more leaving the house. Finish Lady Sasquatch’s socks so you don’t have to worry about them anymore.
And rest for cripes’ sake. You are sick, woman. Act like it.
The 1% of you that is actually rational



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