When I have children, they are GOING to practice hygiene or suffer on pain of death.

I was going to write a post about some of the ridiculousness that happened at the children's theatre camp I've been volunteering at for the past week, but instead I'm going to write a post complaining about how those stupid fucking sacks of pathogen and mucus gave me some horrible thing that has convinced me that my limbs and most of my face are going to fall off.

Last night I passed out pretty much right after I ate, which was...some really early hour...like six or seven in the evening. What seemed to my screaming body to be five minutes later, I awoke to a clock which obnoxiously read "1:55AM".

I knew something was wrong because I awoke fully clothed and I had left the temperature in the room higher from leaving for the day when I normally turn it down after coming home. This is how I came to the conclusion that I was probably sick. My dying immune system decided that I needed soup and juice more than anything on the planet.

I opted to follow the orders given to me by my body because if I didn't it would probably retaliate by making me keel over and die.

...So there I was...in the kitchen at 3 AM...making soup.

From there I decided I should watch FLCL, which generally makes all the problems in the world go away.

Then after that I watched "The Dark Crystal", and almost died of a nostalgia-exacerbated version of my illness (which by this point I suspected was some sort of Soul Ulcer).

After that I watched a few episodes of Southpark until I passed out. Over the course of these episodes I got to thinking the following:

"I should go outside and run. I'll make a playlist for running and everything. It'll be awesome. All my friends who run love it, and I love me some endorphins. If I go right now while it's pitch black outside nobody will see me!" ...but then I thought about what might happen if I went out to run in my current condition.

And then I woke up this morning half way wishing I had died overnight, so that I would not have to experience the horror of seeing my face in the mirror.

All I knew by the end of this horrible experience was that I needed an army of Garthim at any cost. That way I could keep any snot-nosed, pathogen-spewing germ-bags away from my normally resilient immune system.

Because children are cesspools of horrid germ-breeding that produce new, unidentified freak-strains of horribly warped diseases that science cannot conquer, and thus only the primeval sorceries of soup and juice can be of any use.