I feel like someone threw up PAIN all over my body.

I seem to have caught the stomach bug my kids had over the weekend. Everything hurts. And that's only the beginning. But I am not going to get into the rest of it here because, well, trust me, you don't want to know.

It's Brian's 9th birthday today, and this really sucks....albeit, not as much as pushing out a rather average-sized baby out of an extra-small-sized pelvis after 18 hours of labor. So, what am I complaining about - your children's birthdays are supposed to be about pain, right?

More to file under the heading of "ray-ya-yain on your wedding day", I am supposed to go on a class trip with Brian's class today. Not just any class trip, this is a biggie - to a major museum, an all-day affair, including a death march, I mean walk, across Central Park. In spite of my discomfort, I feel that I still must go. I went ice-skating when I was on chemo, after all. This can't be worse than that. Why, it's merely a black fly in my chardonnay - a death row pardon two minutes too late (speaking of which, in my fevered state last night, I dreamt that Jessica Simpson was part of my extended family, as was the entire Soprano clan, and that I witnessed a murder in pre-WWII Germany that somehow involved Miss Simpson as well as Silvio - the hitman played by Steven Van Zandt, a/k/a Little Steven of the E Street Band, not to mention, the cute young guy who played Gabe on Six Feet Under, and that as a result, I went on the run to New Jersey so that I wouldn't be offed in an attempt to get me not to sing like a canary...).

No, it isn't ironic. It just sucks.

YC