Oh my God! I have seriously fallen down on this poor blog. I want to tuck this little blog into bed, brush its hair back from its furrowed brow, and coo, "Oh, sweetie, I'm sorry I haven't been around much lately...I promise it won't happen again."
In my defense, I've been sick. A sore throat last week, food poisoning this weekend, and a general sense of feeling run down and defenseless against sneaky germ attacks. I've been holed up on the couch, watching a lot of Freaks and Geeks (unimpeachably good TV) and How I Met Your Mother (I am starting to feel bad for TV recappers who are contractually obliged to watch that show - the seventh season was unambiguously bad); obviously, I lean pretty hard on the TV dramedy of Mr. Jason Segel when I'm feeling under the weather.
Being sick is the worst. The nausea that accompanied my food poisoning was disgusting - thirteen hours of panting and sweating, anyone? This recent back-to-back bout of illness has left me wondering if there's something wrong with my systems - have I somehow contracted malaria? Or am I allergic to my carpets? Of course, given my family's history, it's also impossible not to wonder if something darker is brewing, but for now, I'm going to assume that my weakened immune system is the result of funky yogurt and bad luck and wait for things to pass.
I've been lucky enough that I have a boyfriend who rolls his eyes only occasionally, and mostly when I boss him around ("Bring me another popsicle!"). I wear the same filthy sweatpants for three days in a row - last night, I got into bed with toothpaste all down the front of my tank top, provoking a laff riot from the BF (I deserved it, and joined in). Being sick means a "big outing" is going to Shopper's Drug Mart for more popsicles. It ruins me.
And it's especially grim in these short little days, when I see the sun for, like, five minutes every day. I feel like I'm living in a cave - albeit one carpeted with used Kleenex - and I forage for chicken noodle soup, and cough syrup to knock me out. Being sick in the summer is brutal, especially when your fever and the 40-degree weather create this compounded heat effect that will knock you out if you're not careful, but in the winter, it can feel like you are never ever going to get better.
I remember one Christmas when I had the flu, like, on December 25, and all I could do was lie on the floor and try not throw up on my sister's new dollhouse (it was actually a 4'x4' board, representing the future dollhouse that would be forthcoming once my parents got it together enough to build it...which took, as I recall, four years). No special turkey dinner, no stocking-stuffer Toblerone, no fat juicy orange was enough to knock the ailment out of my system - I had to suffer through it.
Which is really the way it still is. No matter how much cough syrup and Halls I suck back, the only cure is time.