Ron has been sleeping almost for three days straight. I'm starting to nag him to go to a doctor or get one to go to him. He's got one of those "harmless little colds" that turn deadly, he's so unwell he can't even handle talking to anyone, not even me, properly. His voice on the phone is shocking, he can barely stay online for more than a few minutes at a time... he's logged on constantly but hardly actually types anything. I just pop him a message every now and then and when he's with it for a few moments he might respond to let me know he's not dead yet.

I don't complain about my man being a sook when he's ill. I'm the one that turns into a big sook when he is ill. I can't help it, I wanta be there to fuss over him and look after him and nurse him better. But I can't, so I'm going to sit here and sook about it to my blog - and anyone that bothers to read it - instead, cause Ron is a big tough man and nothing brings him down and I'm not allowed to worry for fuss over him... apparently... according to him.