the black death

i've spent the last week with the bubonic plague. or the ebola virus. well, at the very least i sound like i have tuberculosis. on the way back from homecoming, i felt the looming advance of sickness coming on, and monday morning it came crashing around me like anvils in a looney tunes cartoon. so i've spent the past five days with a sore throat, congested sinuses, headache, coughing, and an inability to breathe without consciously thinking about it. (which is great fun, let me tell you.) plus, i felt like i'd been hit by a truck. this whole lovely experience was compounded by the fact that i am currently in Year #4 of the Sinus Infection From Hell.

but i'm better now. for the most part. i did come to one important realization: i do not make a good sick person.

some people, when they are sick, are pleasant to be around. they are quiet, they don't complain, they just go sleep a lot. i don't. i whine and complain and moan and am, at times, a major pain in the butt. plus i tend to look like something that just escaped from the twilight zone. i called my
mom one morning and opened the conversation with, "i'm calling to whine and feel sorry for myself." i also have moments of extreme anger, such as at 4:30 in the morning when i'm standing in the bathroom ready to scream because i haven't been able to fall asleep yet because my head feels like it's going to explode and everytime i lie down i feel like i'm suffocating.

so, yeah, basically, i'm just a big baby when it comes to being sick. heaven help me if there's ever something seriously wrong with me.