They say it comes in threes...

1. My gallbladder, et al.

2. Carlie's wrist and thumb.

Presenting health crisis 2010, the third edition...

3. Tim has food poisoning. Wherein *food poisoning* = go to the Blazer's game, sprint to the bathroom four minutes before halftime and puke your guts up for half an hour in a public men's room, then come home and not eat for 48 hours and pray for a fast and merciful death.

But here's the real *surprise*... his food poisoning? Might be a little less poison and a little more bug because guess who went to bed sick to her stomach last night and woke up still wanting to hurl this morning? If you guessed ME, you win.

Did I mention that I have a deposition this afternoon? For my new job? The new job that I haven't been to in two weeks, after working one single week and then being out sick for two weeks? Don't you wish you could hire me right here, on the spot, to come and not work for you?

I don't have to leave the house for work until 1:00. Thankfully, the job is about 1/2 mile from my house. So I am going to sleep until then and wake up feeling fine. How? Because I SAY SO, that's how.

Also, Carlie is still in bed, sleeping, after crying thru the night about her wrist throbbing. I think the "cast" is psychologically convincing her that there is more wrong with her wrist than there actually is. Because an immobilized sprain would not be hurting MORE after two days, right? It would be feeling better?

So here's me... waving the white flag, crying UNCLE, whatever. OK. I get it, Universe. You win! I quit!