Juiced

After keeping Trina awake for the past eight to ten nights with my constant coughing and hacking she finally just could not stand it any longer. When I got up she announced that she had made a doctor’s appointment. I immediately began to protest between fits of coughing which did nothing to lead credibility to my case that I didn’t need a doctor. Trina of course decided to take this opportunity to twist the knife in my back just a little more when she said, “this is why you didn’t get to go to Fantasy Camp, I knew you would be sick.” That is just about the meanest thing she has ever said to me. For a brief moment I thought about running up to her and coughing all over her letting my legion of germs do the voodoo they do so well. But I didn’t want to stoop to her level. Besides, if I stopped to think about it I probably did need to see a doctor since this cold just seems to be sticking with me. So I resigned myself to the fact that I was indeed sick. I hate admitting that, it just seems like such a defeatist attitude. And hey, not all doctors want to immediately schedule you for surgery right?


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