Dragonflies, Butterflies & Lady Bugs

Curses! Or, When MJ Feels Sorry for Herself

Okay, I am officially sick of being sick. I'm tired of things leaking from different orifices, tired of coughing, tired of looking like a pasty, greasy freak, even if I just stepped (crawled?) out of the shower. Most of all, I am tired. Just... tired. I can't sleep with all this damned hacking and constriction and watery eyes and aching head and fuzzy-achy cough medicine brain. I want things to stop dripping. Now. And no more pain. And I'd like my voice back fully, please.

You might think that since I spent the majority of the past five days in bed, I would be well rested. You might think that when my eyes are closed, I'm actually sleeping. You might think that in five days of buckets of lemon-echinacea throat coat and green tea and just plain water, of plenty of not-doing-anything and of handsful of vitamins, I might feel a little goddamned better. But noooooo.

Right now I would swallow pig spit if I had an ironclad, proven guarantee that it would make me feel better. Or at least get me 12 hours of solid sleep, which would probably have the same effect. Because Nyquil kind of tastes like pig spit mixed with black licorice anyway, and I've been taking that, which goes to show just how desperate I am.

And the worst part? All this time in bed, reading books, yes, reading your journals, yes, but mostly, reading lots of progressive news sites, which are convincing me that if things don't take a drastic change in four years, I may just immigrate to Canada.

Maybe it was fever-induced delirium, but the other night I caught myself thinking... let them have their damned rapture -- they can all disappear and then we can get to fixing what they've broken.

I'm not very PC when I'm sick, I guess. And ... go la-the-sage!

So tomorrow, the big T day? I just hope I can sleep sometime before then. 'Cause who knows what I'll blurt at the table when I'm sleep-deprived and wild-eyed?

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