I am sick. I am trying really hard not to let it get any worse. I’ve had the OJ, the Airborne, the vitamins, Flonase, yogurt, water, Ricola. I’m fighting with everything I’ve got. I hate being sick.
I guess it was a little inevitable for me to get sick. First, I took two round trip airplane rides two weeks in a row. Then when I got back, I partied like a rock star with a bunch of different rock stars. No telling where those guys have been, and we were sharing beers. On top of that, I have not been sleeping well. Too much on my mind.
I confess to being the worst kind of sick person. First off, I’m always in denial about it. I’ll have completely lost my voice and have a fever, and I’ll still be saying, “I just didn’t get enough sleep last night.” When I finally admit to being sick, I’m so far gone, but still won’t go to the doctor. I absolutely hate going to the doctor only to hear, “you’ve got a virus. Drink more fluids and get more rest.” That’s so aggravating. I could have told them that.
The main reason I’m the most miserable sicky, though, is my attitude. When I’m sick, I don’t want anybody anywhere near me. I want to lay in bed for twenty four hours smelling like crap, looking like crap, and not have to talk to anyone. It’s impossible for anyone to do anything right when I’m under the weather. It’s best to just steer clear. Of course, you know this impossible to do when you live with someone, be they a roommate, family member, partner, spouse, whatever. They’re in my space, and I feel awful, and I want them to die.
So if you think it would be nice to make me some soup or something, think again. We’ll both be better off if you just ignore me while I try to ignore you.
I’m not really that sick, though. Seriously. I swear. It’s just a little runny nose. It’ll be fine.