I got sick this past weekend. And I don’t know about you, but I definitely don’t handle this well.
Being sick as a kid was always crappy, but also kind of awesome. Mom took care of you, made sure you were tucked all in tight, and you got to take time off of school to watch daytime tv on the couch while she made awesome chicken noodle soup. Sure, medicine was gross, but you knew that you had the best care and would be up and running in no time.
Being sick as an adult is much less glamorous. First off, if you get sick at work (like I did on Wednesday), you have to drive yourself home. Except when you feel like utter crap and you call your significant other to pick you and your car up. But then, you go back to work the next day – feeling fine. Friday comes along and bam – more sickness. You want to curl up and die but you can’t because you told your significant other that you’d pick him up from his friend’s house (and he is definitely not capable of driving home at this point). SN: I was fine when I told him I’d pick him up. By the time I wanted to die it was too late to back out. Funny how sickness works like that eh?
Saturday I just wanted to sleep. But since I’m in the middle of a move – the tv is gone. The sofa is gone. Pretty much all the blankets are gone. Everything that was awesome about being sick as a kid is now gone. I’m living off canned chicken noodle soup (which I’m sick of now, it has no flavour, and is probably not helping me at all, but hey – it’s staying down). I’m also getting no sympathy from the significant other as well, since he doesn’t actually believe that I was sick, but since I took Monday off of work I think he’s believing me now.
This is a little bit of a whiny post – but I’m so rarely sick that this has thrown me for a loop. I’m not 100% but I’m going to try and brave work tomorrow. Wish me luck.
