I Hate Being Sick!!

I can’t for the life of me figure out when getting sick stopped being fun. There was a point in my life where being sick meant sleeping in late, missing school and having people bring me my food. In fact, I loved being sick so much that I often attempted to fake it every chance I had. But note from the wise, NEVER attempt to put the thermometer next to a lamp in hopes of raising the temperature. All you’ll get is one broken thermometer and one puddle of mercury on the floor. And that is why I will always miss my cat Sniffles. May he rest in mercury-free Heaven.

But somewhere along the timeline of life, being sick was more of a hassle than an enjoyment. Not only do I feel the weight of death upon my shoulders each and every time, but I am left with the toss-up between staying in bed, hacking up lung and sneezing out brain plus missing work (aka ~ money – missing work is not the problem, it’s missing my next meal), or going about my day and responsibilities while construction road work is being performed inside my head and sweat drips down my brow like scraps out of Rosie O’Donnell’s mouth at Thanksgiving. It’s just too much work being ill. Besides, there’s only so much Nyquil a person can take before they’re having flashbacks of shooting Charlie in ‘Nam. I WASN’T EVEN IN NAM!!

But the worst part about being sick for me is the fact that I can no longer be a hypochondriac. Every day I fill my time with wondering if that paper cut will turn gangrenous or if that hiccup is actually Polio. But when I’m sick all I can worry about is when I will die and how come it’s taking so long already. It doesn’t matter if it’s a cold, the flu or Scarlett Fever, every sniffle I get is a sign from Death. I lay in bed, not because I need rest, but because it would be easier to have my Death Bed and my Sleep Bed be in the same place.