Yesterday, I ventured out of the house for the first time since the Fiendish Flu attacked. I wobbled weakly to the library, where I picked up a delightful armful of books. When I attempted to stand up again, I discovered that I had tweaked my back so badly that I now look like a greater than or less than sign (< or >), depending how you look at me.
Karma must be telling me not to gloat over the misfortunes of others, however well-deserved.
If I can’t think something nice, I won’t think anything at all.