I suppose Summer read my post yesterday about how I was so looking forward to the coming of Fall. It would seem she is the jealous sort, because she has managed to take her revenge out on me in quite a handy manner. It appears I have caught a “summer cold”. (I am hearing very dramatic music in my head as I type this. Sort of like: “summer cold” — dun … dun … duuuuuuun!)
There’s something extra pathetic and whiny about the summer cold. It truly is a fearsome and unpleasant beast. I can’t think of many things less fun than being stuck in bed while your friends are posting pictures of themselves at the pool or out camping or picnicking or partaking in other fun, summery activities. Truthfully, I don’t even like the pool, but the summer cold renders me even more whiny and pitiful than usual. When I see pool pictures, I find myself wheezing in my saddest nasally voice: “The pooool! No fair. I wanna be at the pool.” Inevitably, my husband will remind me how much I dislike the pool, to which I am forced to reply, “That’s not the point. You don’t get anything.” And then, he will wander away looking confused, leaving me to rumple around in my twisted up sheets and comforter as I grumble about all the things I’m missing because I am sick.
The truth is — and I think I can admit this here, within the safe confines of my blog — I am not a pleasant sick person. I pretty much feel as icky as I look, and I tend to feel very dramatic about the whole ordeal. As if the universe is out to get me or something. Or, perhaps, it’s just Summer, trying to shut me up about how fantastic Fall is. I can hear her cackling right now. The witch.
I don’t like people hovering when I am sick. I pretty much want to be left alone to sulk and sleep and die in peace in my own bed. If someone comes in to check and finds my body cold and still, they are allowed to call for help. Until then, just hop to when I ask for something and stay out of my way. This has been a bit of a struggle today, as my mom is visiting, and she is a hovering sort. She keeps asking if I need things, and she wants to hug on me, too. I’m not ungrateful. My mom is lovely, and I appreciate that she loves me and wants to show her concern. At the same time, I am allergic to her hair spray and perfume, which just makes it harder to breathe. I can’t tell her this without hurting her feelings, so I just do my best to wheeze my way through it.
After a rather exhausting bout of dinner, I managed to slink away upstairs. I wallowed in my bed for a bit, and, now, I am sitting here in my dark office. I feel a bit like a dog that has retreated to the safety of its den. I could probably even manage a growl or two, if I tried. Why is the dark so darn comforting when one isn’t feeling their best?
One of the things I like best about being sick — once I can get people to leave me alone, that is — is how it gives me a chance to play hooky from my every day life. A day spent lounging in bed, reading or watching a movie? No problem! You’re sick. And so, I’ve stocked up with stacks of books on my nightstand in preparation for tomorrow. Hopefully, Summer’s revenge will be short … but not too short! After all, I’ve got some juicy reading to catch up on. Perhaps I’ll even manage a grumble or a groan every so often, just so folks will know I’m still alive.