Listen. I don't know who you are or how you're getting into my house. I don't know how you do it without waking me up. But whoever keeps punching me in the face every time I fall asleep can damn well knock it off.
I've got enough problems at the moment. My head and chest are full of goo the charming colors of 1970s appliances. (Only the harvest gold and avocado, thus far. If it gets to be that burnt orange color, I'll be hitting up the ER.) My eyes are red and glassy, with goo leaking from the corners and getting caught in my lashes. It's a look, when paired with the hacking cough, that's reminiscent of Val Kilmer as a tuberculosis-ridden Doc Holliday. Pretty.
Also, my teeth are itchy.
You heard me. I didn't even know that was a thing. Maybe it's my gums and not my teeth? I don't know. But it made me chew away at the inside of my mouth, so now there's that too. And I think it's making me grind my teeth when I sleep because my jaw hurts when I wake up.
Or is that you too? Are you punching me in the jaw? I can't tell. I know about my face from the way that it's swollen, in addition to painful. It hurts to even put my glasses on sometimes, but wearing contacts is clearly not an option (see Paragraph Two).
So knock it off, alright? It's not only uncalled for, it's just plain mean. If you don't stop, then surely one of these times I'll wake up. And I've got a snot-infused French kiss with your name on it.
Wet germy kisses,