In Which Ella Sounds Like a Seventy-Year-Old Man with Emphysema

Today was another long charge across the battle field of hacking cough. I also sounded like an old man with a wispy and gravelly voice, which is, you know, a definite improvement to my normal even tone. What eighteen-year-old girl doesn’t want to sound like a seventy-year-old with emphysema?

But dearest Maxwell has stuck by me all day, entirely unperturbed by the loud and delightful performances of my respiratory system and the nasty germs. He’s too sweet. There’s nothing quite as awful as being sick and alone.

Keeping with the theme of posting entirely unrelated and somewhat embarrassing pictures since I don’t feel up for much of anything, have a photograph of me looking miserable somewhere in the rain forest in Puerto Rico. It was close to a hundred degrees, incredibly humid, and my mother had insisted that I wear a long-sleeved shirt and jeans. After this was taken, we went for a three mile hike, and I was even more uncomfortable.

For the month, you can find me updating my word count on NaNoWriMo here. (I need to do it more regularly so that it doesn’t become flat for a few days, only to receive an enormous spike, indicating that I somehow magically wrote about twelve thousand words in one day.)

And as always, you can also find me on tumblr at, if, you know, you’re into that kind of thing.

One thought on “In Which Ella Sounds Like a Seventy-Year-Old Man with Emphysema

  1. Pingback: On Walking Pneumonia, Failed Eighth Grade Presentations on Afghanistan, and my Addiction to Cough Drops | Eleanor Called Ella

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