I’ve spent the last 4 days sick with a cold. Not just any cold. The Cold of Death. The Plague of 2011. The Portland Pandemic. All this on a holiday week-end, too.
I’m an alcoholic and I know what it feels like to shlog into work with a hangover. Not just on the infrequent Monday. Every day. And I made it. Just like never buying a pint at the liquor store because I might look alcoholic, I didn’t cry sick on Mondays because I had a freight train roaring through the cerebellum. I never called in sick when I was drinking.
Sobriety’s another matter. I get sick rarely and have stayed crazy healthy for the past 13 years. I use sick days as mental health days, sleeping in, shopping and having lunch with friends. The only chronic condition I have is an underactive thyroid and I play that up as much as I can which isn’t much because it’s pretty well regulated and I may have overplayed the condition to get sympathy in the past.
It started Friday, but I could ignore it until Sunday morning. By then, it was impossible to pretend like my nose wasn’t falling off and my lungs weren’t going to disgorge with each hacking breath.
Hurray for sleep and Bob. I woke Sunday evening to a cup of chicken noodle soup and a grilled cheese sandwich served to me in bed. By Monday, I could function better, and today, I’m just nearly back to being a productive human being and Bobby doesn’t seem like he was ever sick! (But Bob isn’t looking that healthy…)
Thank the heavens for the negatives in this life that make the positives so darn beautiful!