I’m a Freakin’ Hot House Flower I Am

Do you have a minute?

Would you mind if I described the current condition of my lungs to you?

Since the dawn of time, I’ve had issues with breathing. Don’t get me wrong – I’m all for it and have rarely come down on the side of not breathing – but I have what my father refers to as “weak lungs”.

Which is pretty funny, when you consider that I marched with a Sousaphone in high school, that I used to run long distance, that I tend to choose Motorhead songs for karaoke…

I have a touch of asthma, a propensity for bronchitis, and have endured bouts of costochondritis, which is either an inflammation of the cartilage of the rib cage or an inflammation off the coast of some lovely South American island, I don’t remember which.

Either way, I got rid of it with an antibiotic.

And now today, what started as a touch of anxiety around manipulating a rather large and unwieldy amount of data has turned into a shallow-breathing nightmare.

And yes, should you all be forced to choose who lives and who dies in some end-of-the-world blogging scenario, I am fully aware that I would be kicked out of the lifeboat first, me and my weak lungs. I can’t figure out how to open a can without a can opener, I don’t carry a knife, I speak only one language (and that, poorly) and now today, I can’t even draw a full breath.

Of course, I’m carrying around a couple extra pounds, so if the tribe decides to eat me (anyone here seen/read “Alive”?), I’m okay with that.

I’m willing to bet most of me will fry up nicely; but as I’ve already alluded, I’m not sure I can recommend the lungs.