January 17, 2004 :: 1:08 a.m.
all the little lungs really want is to be freeeee!
I feel like crap. And yet somehow those words are not enough.
I had the worst night's sleep EVER last night. I woke up feeling worse than I did before I went to bed. My neck hurt, my head hurt, my arms hurt, my back hurt, and I was coughing with a vengeance. I blamed the bed, of course. Because it's hard and somewhat uncomfortable, considering what I used to sleep on. But as the day progressed, I had to accept the truth of the situation.
I? Am sick as hell.
And because the universe goes out of its way to time things badly, tomorrow (or technically today) is the only day I've been scheduled to work for the past month or so. So of course I get sick the day before. I have no doubts that I'll wake up tomorrow feeling even more like a big pile of flaming shit - which of course makes me really anticipate morning like a champ - but then what to do about work? Honestly, I feel like telling them to take me off the schedule entirely. I've been scheduled ONE DAY in January so far. One day, for six hours. It's not even worth it. And now that my lungs are trying to reach the light at the end of my throat every five minutes, it's even less worth it, if that's even possible.
But that means quitting. And I'm notoriously bad at quitting. It all goes back to the doormat-complex, and not wanting anyone to be mad at me. I have serious issues of subservience to authority figures, even if those figures are just my bosses at a crappy retail job that I was only hired for seasonally anyway. I have this perfect scenario in my head where I go in tomorrow to get my paycheck, tell them that I'm not coming in that night due to extreme illness and that they may want to just take me off the schedule entirely, and then I walk out without breaking down in pathetic, spineless tears. Because I have a tendency to cry when I'm nervous. Or stressed. Or intimidated. So basically I just cry all the time. It's like my default reaction.
Anyway, here I am with a fever of 102 (thanks to Adam's handy-dandy thermometer... we don't own one that I'm aware of), sore sore sore throat, coughing up insane amounts of phlegm that, if the pain-level of the coughing means anything, should be chased by gobs of blood, light-headed, queasy to the nth degree, every part of my body hurting in ways that they definitely should not be hurting... doesn't that sound fun? So much for my spectacular immune system and bi-annual illness schedule. I guess they weren't kidding when they said that this is a really bad year for the flu.
Le sigh. Off to bed with my sick ass. Wish me a speedy recovery and no vomit.
back & forth
Wait, there's more!
I like pina coladas - March 30, 2005
must... finish... projects... - March 22, 2005
Mr. Postman delivers the good stuff - March 18, 2005
when everything is bad - March 16, 2005
of fruits and menstruation - March 15, 2005