Being sick brings out the most pathetic side of people (or maybe it just brings out the most pathetic side of me, but I'd like to assume I'm not alone here). I actually called my mom crying at one point. I felt helpless. It's not like I couldn't move. It's not like I broke a leg and couldn't get up off the couch. I just didn't want to. And I felt VICTIMIZED. Why isn't anyone bringing me soup? Why hasn't someone volunteered to wash my M-F dishes for me? Why god, why?!
I reached an ultimate low while texting my nurse friend, Ashley:
Me: I seriously need a boyfriend.
Ashley: What?! Why?
Me: To take care of me.
Ashley: This is the fever talking. You are an independent woman! Go to sleep.
And so I did. I nearly slept through Thanksgiving, but decided that if I spent the day alone in my
basement garden-level apartment, I might end up in therapy. So instead, I took the bus home on Thanksgiving morning, probably infected at least 100 people on my way there (Happy Holidays!), and barely tasted dinner. So sad. Normally, my binge eating capabilities shine on Thanksgiving. In fact, one year in college, my friends and I competed to see who could eat the most. We used to call ourselves "The Eating Team" and our slogan was, "Try to eat us out." That's disgusting. But also hilarious. It also explains my former obesity.
Anyway, I'm hoping to make up for my disappointing performance on Thanksgiving during the rest of the holiday season. If not only for myself, but for Jesus.