Death has come for me, I am sure of it.
There is a chance that karma decided me saying my life is boring was too good an opportunity to pass up. Here’s some back story:
I have been lying in bed since Saturday, buried in a mountain of tissues and extra pillows, sweating through three sets of clothes a day due to my 103 degree fever. I have watched most of the tv show ‘Blacklist’ on Netflix, or at least bits and pieces of it in between codeine cough syrup-induced sleep. Here is what I have learned: James Spader is secretly a good guy, the husband may or may not be involved in shady business, and the blonde one has a voice I am more than happy to fall asleep listening to.
Today I braved the world outside of my bedroom and dragged myself into work for a few hours, only to give up and crawl back into my bed cave of sickness.
So far I have had headaches (the kind that won’t even let you open your eyes for too long), body aches, chills, high fever, a cough that makes me fear pneumonia is setting in, and congestion. Upon returning home from work this germy little monster decided to mutate.
I was standing by the microwave waiting for my chicken soup to heat, wrapped in a fuzzy white blanket, minding my own business (or maybe not minding it as well as I should have been) when out of nowhere – get ready, this is good stuff –
I. shit. my. own. pants.
Not since I don’t know, diapers? has this happened to me. You would think that I would have had some sort of warning: stomach rumbles, nausea, the urge to flatulate?
Nothing, body?! Ok then.
I have now been forced to do laundry, which is probably a good thing considering the nasty, sickness-spreading little creatures who have surely made their home in my bedsheets and blankets. I have reduced my chicken soup diet to only water and sprite and may in fact lose another 5 lbs on top of the 10 I’ve managed to get rid of since the weekend. I have also not had a cigarette since Friday (5 days) and am using this godawful plague to kickstart my plan to quit. Cold turkey is much easier when you physically cannot go outside to smoke one.
The flu has reduced me to a pale, makeup-less, mucus-y lump with no control over my bodily functions. But hey,
P.S. If I do die from this, someone please make that my epitaph.