So, America, what are you doing?
Nothing?
You know what I’ve been doing?
Sneezing blood.
Yes, let me say that again. Sneezing blood.
Oh, sure, I could put up with the coughing up blood or even the bloody snot.
But sneezes that send little brown flecks of blood all over the tissue and your hands and the front of your shirt?
Fuck you, you fucking flu.
But other than that, and the inability to sit upright, I’m feeling better and the doc says that as long as the blood doesn’t get worse, I don’t need to come in, which means I’m spending the day monitoring my snot.
Yuck.
Tiny Cat Pants 
I’m sorry you’re so sick, hope you feel better soon.
Oh, sugar. That is very much of the suck. Please be well soonest.
I need to go do a heal-our-B dance out in the courtyard. Lemme go round up the usual suspects and we’ll get to steppin’. And prayin’.
Sending hugs and pats and lots of cool water (and maybe a bleach pen to tidy up your poor shirt and pillowcase) …
Sheesh. Can you crochet a new set of lungs?
I just can’t be having this, B –after weeks of flu and pneumonia, I finally summon up the energy for a little blogsurfing and race to my friendly local TCP, and you’ve got the ebola-flu. Nope, can’t have it. If we all concentrate hard enough, it’ll go away and you’ll have an inexplicable case of brownies instead, right? All together now.
I’m sorry B. I hope you feel better soon. Please be careful — this same flu took a blood (hee) good shot at offing me.