Tuesday Bluesday

I'm ill.  Properly ill.  I can tell I'm ill because I coughed and a lung flopped out onto my keyboard.  I'm also delirious.  I can tell I'm delirious because I've just searched Google images for 'Lung on Keyboard'... 

Dung on Keyboard

Sorry, it was the best I could do.

This is El Hombre's fault, him and his bloody man flu.  I tell you, if the virus doesn't kill him I bloody well will. The groaning, the heavy sighing, coughing so violently he's at risk of giving himself whiplash... Actually, let's stop a moment with the coughing.  I don't know why, but El Hombre has developed this habit of coughing like he's headbutting a bouncer, and without even bothering to put his hand to his mouth.  I suspect this is because he likes the sound it makes.  Noisy.  Rattly.  A little bit put on.  Why muffle the acoustics of his glorious suffering with a germ-catching palm?

So my immune system catches the virus instead, fumbles it and lets it roll through its legs and into my body.  Butter-fingered phagocytes.  Don't they know I can't be ill, that I'm busy?  I have a house to sell, and before I can sell said house I have to rebuild it from the ground up.  By Friday.

And now with added incovenience of only having one lung, I fear I may be asking the impossible...