After a day spent sucking down Airborne, green tea, water, and orange juice I am proud to say that I have progressed to phase II – the Head Full-o-Phlegm. I knew I had arrived when I woke up at 3:00 am this morning so stuffed up that I was suffocating myself. But, several hours and several Sudafed later I’m now back up to the level of barely functional.
Why is it that being sick turns me into such a whiny b*tch? Now before all you ladies chime in with the “It’s because you’re a man and men always turn into babies when they’re sick” theory* I’ll let you know that when I was younger, I loved being sick. I would milk a case of the sniffles and a mild fever for everything it was worth in the hopes of getting to stay home from school. And being sick back then was water off a duck’s back. Even a case of the flu was a bonus because it increased the odds I’d get to stay home thanks to increased odds of throw-up.
Of course my mom insisted I stay in bed and sleep, drink plenty of fluids, all the typical mom-stuff. But once she left for work I was downstairs, eating cereal and watching TV all day. It was great. Sure, being sick was a nuisance, but it never slowed down my 8-year old self – dammit there were morning cartoons to watch!
These days I want nothing more than to just sit in bed, sleep and drink plenty of fluids when I’m sick. And I’m only 31! Think of what I’m going to be like when I’m in old age…sitting in bed at the nursing home milking my bursitis in an attempt to get more attention from the hot nurses**, no doubt.
* A perfectly good theory, and one which I’m in no position to dispute at the moment
** This will be a requirement of any nursing home I allow myself to be placed in. If my kids don’t put me in the Hooters Nursing Home I’m writing them out of the will.