Just a ketchup re-creation, during the ACTUAL times the parental photographers are too busy cleaning and nurturing me. |
Sniffle-deep scratchy-sneezy snauz of mine, for what do you forsake me? Through the night it tickled but I did sleep through Armageddon. Today I awoke to find someone's replaced my under-snoozy pillow an synthetica… my pillows soaked with blood.
Statistially speaking (regardless of your age) you've never awoken to a pillow soaked wet with your own blood. Still, in my mere three minus, excruciatingly long years dillydally doddeling about this earthen orb, we're up to a good half a dozen times for baby me-man, man.
I always told you I was weathered, now you's got the proof.
Sneezies is snotties and even sickly peoples is a messy waste; but blood is life, and a pillow thusly soaked smells of oxidized copper. I need my blood. I'm still using it and at a scant (albeit chubby) 34 pounds I frankly need all my last drops.
If I'm going to shed even the first drop of my A-positive* plasma, I should at least skin my knee or break a nose in a pool diving accident. Those would be drops, this is ounces.
In case I forget to mention it, "Yuck!" Also, "Nasty!"
I'm intolerant of lactose and racists, but I'm miserably sick with my inability to stomach mold spores (which is really bad since we live in the gloriously green and dank Pacific Northwest).
Ah, mold. You make my gude blue, my live cultures active, and my tender nasal tissues bleed by night or day. And, there's nothing I can do about it but wake up looking like a stabbing victim, protein hungry and crying in a moist and half coagulated cotton bog of my own red cells.
I'm not here to complain, just to relay an inequity my father asserts. It's that no child should have to suffer sickness, least of all those inunderstandable to the victim.
Dad got an A+ in blood. Mom is negative something I'm deducing.
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