Dear John, Dear Abby, Dear Me!

Dear John Prine,

What seemed like a bend in the road to recovery yesterday turned out to be, instead, a traffic circle that led me back around to some previous state of un-wellness that I passed by going the other way earlier.  More couch time is needed.  Work can wait, sort of, though the patience of my patients may soon wear thin and they will...have to wait for me, of course.  They do not want to share in my viral experiences, I'm sure.

It's difficult to stay home sick when you work in health care.  But it's still a very, very, very good idea. 

It's difficult to lie on the couch while your dog is giving you those puppy-dog eyes and whining about not getting to go out and do the business of dogs, which is to keep the home turf labeled with pee. 

I'm writing to you, Dear John, because I am reminded now of your song Dear Abby.  "

Dear Kimi, dear Kimi,
you have no complaints...you are what you are and you aint what you aint, so listen up buster and listen up good, stop wishin' for bad luck and knockin' on wood, signed Dear Abby."

I'll stop whining now John, and play some of your music to get me through. 

What's that?  Yes, my readers know you didn't really write a verse to dear Kimi.  They know I must be delirous with fever or something.  Why heck, you don't even know me or anyone in my family and you didn't answer our invitation to my parent's 50th anniversary party.  Buy we still love your music, and we can dream that you might, someday, make fun of one of us in a song.

Signed,
Not whining