So this week my focus52 is not a picture...I am going to help you conjur up mental images of what my week looked like (I had big plans for this week's theme, so I'm pretty disappointed it didn't happen) I've had a bad week and I don't have any real photos (hence the mental images).First, imagine working in a job where you have to talk to people. Then imagine breaking into an insane coughing fit every time you say more than 10 words in a row. But don't worry...I'm not contagious (but I have had at least three people tell me "...or it might be pertussis.") Then imagine busting a rib because you coughed so much (and so hard). Yep, that's right I busted a rib. The resident who was on when it happened assured me, after further examination, that it probably wasn't broken, just dislocated. Either way...ouch. Then there was the flat tire on my month old car. The flat tire that turned out to be unrepairable...and not covered by the warranty because it's flatness was caused by a road hazard (a nail) and not something structural. So yeah, I have already purchased a new tire for my month old car (whose tires are also only a month old). Then, while waiting for the unrepairable tire to be repaired (before I knew it was unrepairable), I sneezed, while sitting, and broke my rib more (like shooting pains up my back had to lay down on the floor so I wouldn't pass out because it hurt so bad). For a few minutes all I was sure of was that I was still able to breathe. I was convinced that John was going to have to come home from work and peel me off the floor because I wasn't sure if I could move. I managed to get up...very painfully. Then I promptly called and found a chiropractor that could see me today (the consensus was that if my rib was dislocated, a chiropractor would be the person to see). At said appointment, it was determined that I had actually sprained my ribs and there was nothing that could be done (other than ice and advil), and hopefully (yes...that's right hopefully) it will heal in 6-8 weeks. Then I came home and broke the news to John. Who said something funny. Which made me laugh. Which in turn, made me cough. Which caused me unbearable pain. Which made John feel bad. I told him to stop making me laugh for the next six to eight weeks. His trying not to make me laugh, made me laugh more. Which...well...you get the idea. He suggested I go stay with my friend who recently had surgery (and who has a sick dog) so we could all be pathetic together (and so he and Kiva wouldn't have to worry about accidentally hurting me). She thought that was a good idea, but pointed out that hopefully everything we needed was out since neither of us could lift anything heavier than a fork. (Which made me laugh.) I said we could call John if we needed anything lifted or taken off top shelves (he's good at that kind of stuff), which John pointed out defeated the whole purpose of me leaving! So, here I am, sitting on the couch with my friend the ice pack, wishing that the view from here was a little less grim. PS. My illness is getting mildly better. I got antibiotics and really feel much better, except that every time I laugh, I cough, which hurts a lot.