I am returning to the world after two days in a near-death state that was not nearly near enough to death to overwhelm the extreme feelings of nausea and vomiting. Unfortunately, I caught it from my mom, so I couldn’t go running to mommy to baby me. My dad, however, was there in a jiff with Gatorade, medicine and chicken soup. It was not the first time I found him to be adept at taking care of me when I was sick.
I was going to write this over the weekend, but I got all caught up in entertaining the Reaper:
 
Cleaning the oven means incinerating all leftover foods into a fine ash. It also means a smell unlike any other. This smell of ash overpowered my small home for several days, causing headaches and hysteria.
It reminded me of the headaches I got after I bought several oil paintings (still wet) from a Wal-Mart in China and hung them over my bed. I should have waited until they were dry to hang the paintings, but I’m not known for my patience. So the fumes gave me headaches. I finally took the paintings down and moved them into another room until they were dry.
When I returned them to their spots above my bed, I was in for at least one more headache. As I sat on my bed reading one afternoon, the painting above me fell and hit me on the head.
I’ve got my fingers crossed that the oven doesn’t do the same.
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