Convinced I'm Dead? I May Be Too.

Allow me to offer up this mental image for you: Me- laying on my couch, skirt hiked to mid-waist, feet propped unceremoniously on the coffee table that I laboriously moved closer for the convenience, pasty and weak, wondering if I'll ever see the light of day again. [Ignore the fact that there is so much natural light in my living room at present that I could get a sun tan while watching Gilmore Girls] I ask my roommate in a feeble, shaky voice why life can't be like TeVo, why can't I pause this rushing world, sleep for ten hours, and then catch up on class? I feel like I'm being deep. She wasn't listening. When asked to repeat this sentiment, I'm overcome with a feeling of retardation for ever thinking that comparing life to TeVo would be something that anyone would take seriously.

Being sick is no fun, but the beginning stages of illness where you're well enough to go to work and class are even worse. Worse, I say. Helplessly I totter from my car to my classes, and tediously I sit though a lecture on the teenage consumer market of the mid to late 1940s, holding my head, convinced that if I let go my cranium will literally explode in the middle of class. And no one would want to clean THAT mess up. I go to work and stand up for six hours, bemoaning my fate of having the WORST job of ALL time where I do EVERYTHING AROUND HERE. [Edit: I make coffee at a reasonably slow moving establishment where I work with people who are amiable and fun. I make minimum wage plus tips, and the hours work cooperatively around my school schedule. Make you're own judgement call here.] I run into walls and begin to think that my legs won't hold my weight anymore and convince myself that I probably have a brain tumor, because that's the most reasonable assumption at this point. I then, being the pious martyr that I am, work my full shift after convincing myself that I can be "brave" and with a Madonna-like facial expression, finally climb in my car to go home.

After it's all said and done, I don't have a fever, I go to all my classes, I go to work, and I'm still living and breathing. I'm disgusted with myself for being so theatrical, then repeat it all the next day. Solution? Go to the doctor, get a Z pack, stop watching The Holiday on repeat. Life might not look so bleak then.