I found sugar
"I bet you think this song is about you" (son of a gun)
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If it was possible to RMA my physical self back to the manufacturer in question, I would do it. Because this whole illness thing just isn’t for me.
Maybe it’s the bitter cold we’ve had lately, but I can’t seem to get better. Or rather, I seem to get a wee bit better and then I drop right back down to worse depths. Early Saturday morning I woke up alight with fever and attempting to hack up my lungs. I took enough Robitussin AC to sink a battleship and hoped to God I’d make it to the leadership conference I was supposed to attend.
No such luck, of course; I managed to knock myself out cold for approximately sixteen hours. Then, of course, I woke up and promptly started throwing up, thanks to having codeine on a wholly empty stomach. Really not much fun at all. Thankfully one of the clan’s many doctors had provided us far-flung ones with heaps of antibiotics, painkillers, and other assorted pharmaceutical goodies, and with the help of the good doctor, I self-medicated myself into a fuzzy stupor.
My Super Bowl party was, of course, bizarre. The MacGillicuddy and our cousin K.R. were drafted to take over hosting duties while I lay in bed and wheezed out directions. And really, watching the Super Bowl in bed isn’t half-bad. If it wasn’t for the fact that I looked an absolute wreck, I’d show you the photos where I’m reclining with the good doctor and E.R. amidst a wealth of pillows and with the detritus of illness (Kleenex, a small pile of cough drops, Vicks Vapo-Rub) matched with a half-finished plate of nachos and emptied beer bottles on my tea tray. Plus all you have to do is cough pitifully—easy to do when your entire respiratory system is in distress—and someone will jump up and attend to your need.
The MacGillicuddy joked that I was probably the only person for whom a request to take a sick day this morning was valid. As it stands, were it not for the fact that I’m still catching up to my prior days out, I’d definitely be in bed still morosely nursing my cough-syrup bottle.
I know I shouldn’t curse and that it isn’t ladylike, but I feel like shit.