All Chest Muck, All The Time

What is it? Day 5? Day 6? It’s all bleeding into one, truthfully. The chest muck has hardened, and won’t shift without great and painful effort. The guaifenesin cough syrup is helping somewhat, but I fear I’m not long for this world. Will there be pretty maids in mourner’s gowns, or crepe bows on public doves? I doubt it. I’m gonna die, alone and unloved in this little hovel in the basement of an old war-era building with crumbling mortar work and old wiring.

Okay, I’m overdoing it, I know. I am neither alone nor unloved. Permit an old man some creative license.

One more mini meeting today, and then I should have a better idea of what my role is expected to be, at least until the meeting I was hoping the whole gang would go in for (kicking and screaming, as it turns out).

No big announcements to make, yet. That may be a good thing, or it may be a bad thing. Hard to tell.

Anyway, thank you all for reading.


Don't be shy. Tell me what you really think, now.


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