The end of days?

Okay, so maybe I'm being overly dramatic--it has been known to happen from time to time.  But still.

What's the dealio with all these birds dropping out of the sky, dead as doornails?  Hundreds of birds all at once, in different parts of the world, just THUNK - dropping mid-flight.  Now there are reports of tons of fish washing ashore in the Chesapeake Bay and in Brazil, many of them without eyes.  Without their eyes, people!

Poor Alabama fishies

This is some straight-up Stephen King shit, right?  Sure, the scientists have come up with a few theories about the birds being startled to death by fireworks on New Year's Eve, but the fact of the matter is that they're all grasping at straws here.  Nobody knows what the heck is going on with this wacky planet of ours, much less how to stop or control it.

These are the things I'm thinking about as I lie here recovering from the GODDAMN MOTHERFUCKING PLAGUE.  Okay, there I go getting all dramatic again, but still--I'm recuperating from the worst flu I can remember having EVER.  Sunday night I woke up shivering and achy, and by morning I was so ill I couldn't even call in sick for myself.  I have spent the past three days lying flat on my back (and not in a good way), hacking up a lung and wondering how I'm going to get anything done this week.  And honestly, I have SO much to get done this week. 

I also realized how utterly dependent my family is upon me being a functional adult since everything in the house pretty much went to shit immediately.  The laundry exploded, the dishes went unwashed, the puppy found new and creative ways to sneak off to foul my carpets.  Considering the fact that opening a bottle of Tylenol proved to be too challenging for me this week, getting the kids up and off to school was no mean feat.  Last night as I lay on the couch and wondered if this is what dying feels like I found the energy to scratch out a list and send the Jim to the store.  I honestly wonder if the man would ever think to feed himself or the children if I didn't remind him.

At some point during one of my lucid moments I caught 15 minutes of Kendra, which made me want to kill myself.  In this episode this half-wit, no-talent dingbat is kvetching about having to pack and move from Philly to L.A. because her rich husband got cut from the Eagles.  As she's complaining about how hard it is for her they show an army of movers who come into her apartment and do everything for her while she sits and eats a sandwich. Why does this chick have a television show? 

I'll tell you why: it's the end of days, dudes.

Anyho, that's what La Bev has been up to lately, since I've clearly not been blogging.  Hope you're all doing well, and oh yeah - Happy New Year!  Hopefully things will get back to normal around here soon enough, my darling BOOBHs.  Whatever that is.  :)