Like thousands of other people out there right now, I’m sick. Not the fun kind of “sick” which really means awesome. (Although I’m kinda that, too.) But the sore throat, raspy hack, can barely breathe out of one nostril kind of sick.
I’m not telling you this to be whiny. Because I kinda did it to myself. I am fully aware that when my body gets worn out/stressed or whatever, it usually manifests in some sort of cold-like symptoms. It’s because I’m on handfuls of immunodepressants. But it usually goes away in a day or so without much issue. Unless I do something stupid… Like pass around a bottle of champagne on New Year’s Eve. And stay up til 2am. It’s at that point that my body says, “Screw her!” And decides to teach me a lesson.
So, five days later I’m trying to hold back phlegmy coughs as I answer the phone with my scratchy, “40 pack a day smoker” voice. I’ve been asked several times at work if I need to go home, which I assume means that I look like I have leprosy. However, going home means dealing with the miniature leper, and I don’t think I can handle that. Not again. Because yesterday I felt bad for the little munchkin. I mean, I was the one that got her sick. So, I stayed home to take care of her. Big mistake. Sick taking care of sick never ends well. At one point, I think I actually had to stop myself from squeezing the breath out of her in order to put a stop to the crying. I understand that she has no comprehension of why she can’t breathe through the snot pouring from her nose, so that’s got to be mighty frustrating. But I’m not particularly well known for my patience on a normal day. Factor in illness? And you might as well not come near me, because I’m a ticking time bomb.
But we made it through the day. Mostly due to my amazing husband that went out to get DQ Blizzards (for the Biggest Loser season premiere) and came home with orange juice.
But that’s why I’m sitting at my desk in a DayQuil induced, zombie-like state. Because it’s easier to be sick here than at home. What happened to home being a refuge? Oh yeah. It’s been invaded by a 2 1/2 foot, 23 pound terrorist.
So, if you don’t hear much from me this week, it’s because I’m looking for WMDs hidden somewhere inside my house. Or I’ve OD’d on NyQuil.
Peace, Love, and Orange Juice,