Pug No. 1
Oil on canvas, 12x12, commission
I've been absolutely flattened by some virus now for what feels like an eternity, and I've come to a few realizations.
The first is that I almost never get any small illnesses. Little things - sore throats, upset stomachs, headaches - these just don't happen to me. When I do get sick, it's sleep-the-clock-around, sure-I'm-never-getting-better kind of sick.
The second is that, if I ever get some sort of terminal illness, it would be in Peter's best interest to just leave me. Clearly, I will be unable to keep myself from whining and complaining. If I am this abysmal with the flu, I will be unbearable with a fatal illness.
I'd be best off just walking into the desert, or finding an ice floe and setting myself adrift.
Honestly, if I could leave my own self, I would.