I’ve been sort of sick this past week, which has put a real damper on my ability to do productive things.
Whenever I get sick I become the most helpless person in the entire universe. I know so many people who react to being sick by just powering through it and doing amazing things and looking their disease in the face and being like “SCREW YOU, DISEASE. NOTHING HOLDS ME BACK.”
I am not that person.
Yes, I still go to work or whatever, but it takes all of my mental energy, and as soon as I’m home, I’m in my bed or on my couch. My pants become sweats in the blink of an eye. My hair piles chaotically atop my head. My makeup smears. And I assume the attitude of a small, pathetic child instead of a freakishly tall, grown-ass adult woman.
I get super needy. I just want to lay around and have someone bring me tea and soup all day. Unfortunately my dog, Gio, pours a terrible cup of tea and spatters the soup everywhere when he cooks. It’s the worst.
I should admit something here: I’m not even really officially sick. I have a weird chest-cold type thing that results in my energy level being not-at-all altered and causing my voice to sound like a that of the love child of a sexy jazz singer, Emma Stone, and Marcel the Shell with Shoes On.
And then once every hour, I need to cough.
My nose also runs on occasion.
That is all it takes to turn me into a whiny child, constantly texting my boyfriend or my mother with messages that simply read “I’m dying. :(”
The boyfriend usually responds with things like “That is not allowed.” or “Please don’t,” which is nice.
My mother usually just says things like “It happens to us all eventually.”
Which, I suppose, is fair.