Sick

I don't feel so good.* I can only be grateful that I don't feel so good today rather than any time before this past weekend, but it still sucks that I don't feel so good because I was going to see a play tonight. Now I'm going to pick up my new vacuum cleaner** and go home, eat chicken soup, drink a lot of tea, and go to bed. Not necessarily in that order. Well, collecting the vacuum will definitely happen first.

From the bed my cat and I will watch sit-coms and I will read and I will go to sleep, possibly before the sit-coms are over.

Alas.

I don't suppose that anyone wants to come over, pat my (kinda germy, whatever) hand, bring me things, take my temperature, and say "you poor baby," do they? Because I would love that.

Especially if they could be combined, like "You poor baby. Here, have more tea." or "You poor baby, that fever is just spiking, isn't it? You must feel awful." The best thing about the latter option is that it allows me to be all brave and say, rather wanly, "Oh, it's okay, it's not that bad," when I really know that I am possibly sicker than any human should have to stand and that I'm missing a play because I'm this sick.

Good thing that I have a practically full bottle of zinc tablets.


*Symptoms: A cough that comes from my lungs*** rather than my throat and a low-grade fever. So all of my skin feels hot and I feel draggy which means that the assault-level of friendliness that is my dominant characteristic is in abeyance.

** More on that tomorrow, but sufficeth to say, it wasn't a minute too soon.

***Please, please, please don't let this be bronchitis. Please no. I hate bronchitis.