Under attack.

So my body is becoming infested with pathogens. This makes it hurt to talk, breath, and think.

All I'm good for right now is sitting still and doing very little with my brain. Which means I want to watch a film with guns and shooting in it.

I feel bad for my wife, who tries to make conversation with me. Poor lady is stuck all day trying to forge dialogue with a two-year-old whose favorite phrase right now is "Tickletickletickle!"

Wife asks fairly important question. I grunt in response. She asks for clarification. I grunt again, hoping that she realizes that that's all she's getting out of me.

I'm going to weave an impenetrable cocoon about myself and hibernate for a thousand years.

Goodbye.