I'm sick. And there's a couple of ways to tell. First of all, Renee is following me around with a can of lysol spraying everything I touch. I also have a batch of homemade chicken-and-cornbread dumpling soup in my fridge, courtesy of my mother. And most importantly, my vaporizer is propped up beside my bed happily humming away.

Do you own a vaporizer? You should. I'm an addict. Whenever I feel like I'm coming down with something, I dig around in my closet until I find the contraption and live next to it until I get well. I love the "white noise" it produces and I like to stick my face over it until moisture droplets form on my cheeks. But that's not even the weird part. The strange thing is that weeks after I have recovered, I still haven't put my vaporizer back in the closet.

At this point, I'm still legitimately sick. But check back with me a month from now and I bet I'm still falling asleep to the gentle purr. If you're freaked out by this post, take a moment to reflect. You're probably weirdly attached to one of your random possessions, too. If you think of one, leave me a message to let me know I'm not alone. :)