Anyhoooo, so I have tonsillitis. Again. Third time this year. Stupid tonsils. When I was little I used to think of my immune system as little people, like the berries in the Ribena advert, wearing little hard hats. Well, right now they're getting their asses kicked. To help them, I am taking eight antibiotic tablets a day and eating an inordinate amount of mint Matchmakers ("are they not too scratchy?" I hear you cry. Luckily not, I just feel like I've been shot with a tranquilizer dart big enough to take down a hippo. Speaking of hippos, have you seen that programme about the domesticated hippo?! Weird.).
To help me get through this difficult time, I have sought out the advice and wisdom of another doctor: Doctor Mark Sloan. Yep, that's right, Diagnosis Murder is the only thing standing between me and cabin fever. If I didn't have Mark in my life, solving all these murders, I don't know what I'd do. Although I never got that whole thing about his son being all attractive and sexy-like. AND he's Mark Sloan's son on the show and Dick Van Dyke's son in real life. Whaddada chyances?! (Though, what's up with the name Barry Van Dyke? Really? Barry? Was that the best you could come up with, Dick?) Shamefully enough, I've discovered I've seen all the episodes that have been on this week at least once...or maybe twice...alright, it's closer to three times. This has to be a wake up call for my immune system: if you've seen an episode of Diagnosis Murder more than twice, it's time to reassess your life.
Well, all that's left to do is get better. My favourite motivational quotation of the week came in the form of Mathew's little brother. It has brought a smile to my face every time I've thought about it:
(Re: spending the weekend with Mathew's family) Mathew: ...Alana has got tonsillitis again.
Dan: Well tell her to get her shit together before the weekend.
Hehe. Fo shiz!