I'm just depressed because my Mystery Disease, once seeming to be on the decline, has stepped up its assault on my body. I so desperately want to be back to normal and do my normal things and have spunk and pep and dreams and hopes, but that's not happening for me.

I've started the MegaPills the doctor told me I probably wouldn't need, but that she prescribed "just in case." So, if these don't work, I suppose the NIH will be arriving to take my diseases carcass to a secret lab someplace.

Adding to the creepiness is my cat. Usually, she only has eyes for the ÜberGirls when they're home, but lately she has attached herself to me. She stares at me adoringly, follows me around, and jumps into my lap at every opportunity. I think she knows I'm dying, and she's saying, "Dibs on the meat!" to the rest of my family.

I want to go out and do something fun and delightfully kitschy, like bowling or roller skating or joining in a community sing-a-long, but I guess I will settle for take-out and NetFlix.

If anyone wants to volunteer to come over and wax my eyebrows and give me a manicure/pedicure or work on redecorating strategies with me while I convalesce, drop me a line.

Smoochies.