April 17, 2011

sicky

I'm sick.
Everybody else at church was doing it, and I felt left out.
So I joined the sick crowd.

You know how in the movies, the girl with the hangover is walking into her prestigious office building, and she discreetly leans over a trash can and pukes, and nobody knows the difference?
She just kinda says, bleh, and wipes the edge of her mouth when she's done...
And runs her fingers through her glowing, beautiful hair...
And all the guys are like, we love you will you marry us?
She doesn't even have to use mouthwash or anything.

I'm NOT like that.

If I puked at work, it'd clear the building and I'd get fired.
I'm a violent vomiter.
When I puke, it comes out my nose, and gets in my hair, and you can hear me vomiting all over the house.
It's embarrassing.
I never just say, bleh, and run my fingers through my glowing hair. And there's no time for the guys to ask for my hand in marriage because I'm too busy lying on the bathroom floor, shivering, and crying, and shaking, and looking for mouthwash.

When I'm not groaningly clinging to the toilet, I'm in the tub.

I've never understood the whole soak-in-the-tub attraction that some people have.
Candlelit bubble baths? Relaxing? Huh?
I'm afraid of drowning, people. And getting in the tub raises my risk of drowning.
I can't relax in the tub: I'm too busy locking my knees, frantically clutching the edge of the tub, and generally doing whatever it takes to keep my head above water.
But when I'm sick... I remember how when I was a little girl and my Moma would put me in a hot bath, and say soothing things to me like, It's alright, Moma's here. It'll be over soon.
It always made me feel better.
It's not quite the same now though.
For one, Moma's not here to save me from drowning. And second, when I tell myself, It's alright, Moma's only 3,000 miles away in Alabama. No biggie. It'll be over soon... it's just not as comforting.
But when I'm miserable, I'm willing to try anything. Even if it involves possible death by drowning.

I can't eat, my back hurts, my head hurts, my left leg hurts, my hipbone hurts from sleeping on my side on the bathroom floor all night, I'm sore from puking, I had to stay home from church today, I might miss the Mission's Conference, I look like death, I feel like death, I wish for death...
I hate being sick.
It's miserable at best.

I hope you feel sorry for me.
Because I deserve your pity.


{UPDATE, the next day: I'm much better everyone. Thanks for all the pity... it helped tremedously...}