I have a cough. Not a terribly terrible cough as you might imagine. It cannot be described as a smoker's cough or be likened to black lung. Just a cough.
It's not even one of those nuisances of a cough that causes its afflicted to make as if he were to clear his throat every eight and three quarter seconds. It's just a cough. Although it does make me feel the need to clear my throat. Ahem.
And as I whittle away at the keys beneath my fingers, there rests a satchel of relief-coated lozenges a mere twenty-one inches forward, ten and a half inches off to the right, and thirteen and five eighth inches below the very throat to which I could offer instant, if only temporary, relief.
But at this moment it has been
As it turns out, I don't want to write about my cough anymore. At the moment, I don't really feel like writing about anything. My inspiration has presently ran dry. I was hoping to make a mildly amusing post about something rather trivial. So trivial, in fact, that the degree and nature of the trivial subject is trivial itself.
Here's a thought: if I were to pursue using the word 'trivial' more times an a sentence than anyone else, could I then consider that a game of trivial pursuit?
