I’m sick of feeling sick

I am typing with one hand so that the other hand can hold a tissue under my continuously leaking nose. While worshiping my beloved box of tissues this morning, I remembered a babysitter from my childhood. She wasn’t a stare at the television or talk on the telephone babysitter. She sat on the front porch and made flowers from tissues. I remember bringing her every box of tissues in the house, even the unopened boxes hidden under the sink. I was very disappointed when she ran out of tissues. I was even more disappointed that my mother returned home and expressed no joy at the wonderful tissue flowers. I couldn’t understand why that babysitter never sat for us again.

I understand now.

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