[6:43 AM]

being sick.

Current Song: nosong
Current Mood: verysickthankyoumuch

So yesterday I was kinda sick. My stomach twisted itself into a couple of knots (wrestling with my spleen, methinks) and was sore and achy and unhappy. I was at work when this happened, and finally got sent home...

...where I slept for two hours and felt much much better.

Well enough, in fact, that later that evening I was able to sit in the basement food-court of Crossroads Mall sucking down a milkshake while carrying on a pleasent "I hate work" conversation with Lissa and Jaia.

I went home, went to bed, and got lots of sleep. That should've been the end of that.

So why is it that, upon waking up this morning, my first priority is to vomit? That's not what I asked for. That's not what I wanted. I wanted to be healthy, not sick. And if I was going to be sick, why do I have to be this sick?

My stomach is curling itself round and round, hating me for doing anything but lying prone on my bed being miserable and moaning patheticly every few minutes. I'm freezing, despite a bathrobe, a hoodie, a button up long sleeve shirt, and a t-shirt. I'm sipping water like it's going to burn the back of my throat and trying very hard not to cry. I hate being sick.

It only makes matters worse that I have a very bad attitude toward sickness. It is my unshakable belief that being sick is a weakness, or an excuse. That I, by admitting I am sick, am also admitting that I am a horrible failure who can't even swallow a little pain and nausea. That by calling off from work, I am, in fact, giving into my natural and amazing laziness. I am, in other words, a bum. Even if I'm unable to stand for five minutes. Even if I've already thrown up once and have almost thrown up twice more (in two hours). Even if I can do little more mentally than rant bitterly on my blog. I should be at work and I'm a bum for not going in.

If I didn't have a wife who's much more level headed than I, I would likely be in the gutter somewhere pulling myself on my hands and knees to work, covered in vomit and blood, crying out about how sorry I am that I'm late. Instead, I'm comfortably at home, letting this sickness suckiness take it's course...

go me.