I have consumption. I waste away. I am at times pale as death, at times flushed with the tint of a summer rose.
How, you ask, did I catch this nefarious malady that so steadily o'ershadows my mortal frame?
I will tell you, Gentle Readers, that you may escape my wretched fate. The moon was full one night, and I was overpowered by its pristine beauty to the point of throwing all discretion to the wind. I rambled all night in a field of bedewed grass. As the night waned I felt weaker and weaker, until at last I fainted and would doubtless have ere long passed on had not some kind, anonymous stranger carried me to safety.
I pass my days away in knitting socks for the poor, desperately seeking to do one last good deed for this poor weary world. It is all I have the strength left to do. Take heed to my tale, all you that hear! Live wisely, and beware of wet grass!
(and don't run with scissors, or any other pointy object. It's all good fun till somebody loses an eye!)
Seriously, I'm doing much better the last two days. Thank you all very much for your kindess and your prayers-- they're much appreciated.