This time I’m going to the doctor. I’m sick again and cannot deal. I’m walking around in ugly plaid pjs from Old Navy with an even uglier shirt that says, "I’ve been Naughty." Here is what I want: a professional gland massager. Someone who’ll whisk in and massage my swollen glands and sore muscles. It feels like the flu or a bad cold. I am so tired of having such a shitty immune system. The fact is, wherever the kids bring home colds, I get them too, but worse. Phil never gets them. Add stress, not enough sleep, and its not a good process. I want to die right now.  Even news of a shopping spree couldn’t make me move. It’s when I know I’m sick. I used Afrin. I know I can’t use it for too long, that I’ll be dependent on it. But that is a wonder drug. Okay, I must go. It’s conference call time. Never mind that I can barely keep my eyes open. Did I mention I want to die? Sick sucks.  In other news, we’re going with Kini. Mr. Bikini at more formal times. Higgins just didn’t feel right, even though I like the name better. Kini just fits somehow.