Pain, illness and ... pain

The other day, while in the shower, while shaving my pits, I lost control of my razor, it flipped in the air and cut my lip on the way down to the bottom of the tub. It was one of those tiny surface cuts that bleeds profusely and stings like a fothermucker. I felt like a gigantic idiot, as I've never heard of a shaving accident involving the face when one is not actually shaving the face. My face has nothing to do with my underarms, and yet ... It's like walking into a salon for a haircut and leaving wearing a new pair of pants.

This came about at the tail end of my victorious battle against The Phlegm. The Phlegm has taken over my face twice a year since college, but I've managed to temper it in the past two years, though I don't know how. The Battle of Bunker Phlegm, I have taken on your challenge armed with vitamin C pills and Kleenex with aloe, and I reign supreme! But now Josh is all congested, so we have a lot of this conversation:

JOSH: I can't breathe!
ME: I shaved my lip!
JOSH: You're an idiot.

Beyond that, and I don't know how to say this, we had to put Gwendolyn to sleep yesterday. She deteriorated rapidly in the past two weeks and by Tuesday night was mostly unresponsive. She just had enough and all of her organs shut down. So I hide behind humor so I don't cry at work, and I'll write about it from home this weekend because I have so many thoughts. So please bear with me while I get my head together. Thanks.