SICK!

I have a cold.  Actually, since I have a fever, I can safely take it to the next level and say I am sick.

The world doesn't stop when I'm sick.  I'm still on mommy duty, I still have to work, the house is still a disaster in need of my attention (oh wait, I don't get to that even when I'm healthy).

I used to LOVE being sick.

I have some issues with my mom, but man, she was fantastic with sick.  Granted, I had to prove I was sick.  Fever of at least a hundred degrees.  Barring that, there'd better be vomit.  But once I the hurdles and was deemed well and truly sick, I became the center of the universe.  The TV was moved into my bedroom, the finest delicacies were delivered to my nighttable, and I could while away the hours in glorious peace and tranquility.

I have particularly fond memories of a several-week-long bout of pneumonia in ninth grade.  I was a wreck the first few days, but after that I felt pretty good, just low energy — though I still wasn't allowed to go back to school until it was completely out of my system.  I did all my favorite things: I read, I played cards and board games, I watched TV, I spent evenings talking endlessly on the phone… I even took doctor-recommended super-steamy showers, after which my mom had to pound my back to loosen up the phlegm.  I look back on it like a trip to a destination spa.  I even lost weight, despite the fact that I was eating cookies three times a day (the beauty of a wasting disease).

Being sick back then felt kind of like what going to Hawaii feels like now.

Weird, but true.

Just took a night-time cold medication, which means it's only a matter of time before I get very loopy… probably best to go to bed.

I'll dream of chicken soup.