No, no, no. This isn’t the post where I tell-all, spilling my dirty fantasies for your prurient enjoyment (or disgust.) This is about me. Dying. Slowly.
I am sick. I have been for a week. Blergh.
It began with my daughter. She got a fever last weekend. I stayed up all night taking care of her. She got better. The next day, I had a sore throat. Then the coughing. The nasal congestion. The headaches…but that was it. For a week, that’s been it.
And that really freaking ticks me off. A freaking week of this puny head cold that makes me feel like crap but doesn’t really do anything else? MY GOD! What kind of germs do they think they are?
Here’s what I want when I’m sick. I want vomiting, the Linda Blair in the Exorcist kind. You know why? Because every time I’ve been sick like that, I’ve puked … and then it’s over. None of this lingering on and on and on crap.
I want snot squirting out like lube from a karate-chopped tube of KY Jelly. Because then I can go to the doctor and he can give me junk that’ll clear it up. Not trying to stave it off with this weenie DayQuil (which STILL makes me drowsy!)
I want to be laid out in bed, shivering, crying, moaning, so that I don’t have to make freaking dinner anyway, or go get the groceries, or whatever, so that my husband will be sitting on a chair next to me patting down my head with a wet cloth or something. Instead he’s like, “Ew, don’t touch me with your germs” and the reason he makes his own lunch is so that he doesn’t get sick, too.
When I’m sick, I don’t want a slow gentle lovefest with my germs. I want to be taken hard and fast, flung to the floor and…
Oh, yeah. This wasn’t about my sick fantasies.
So, tell me. How you feeling today?