I’m sick.

I don’t like being sick. As a kid it was all fun and games. I got to stay home, watch cartoons, my mom babied me. I would call my aunt and tell her I was sick, and she would bring me toys, usually the latest Care Bear that wasn’t out yet for everyone else, but she’d dig through the stock in the back of KMart and get exactly what I wanted. The medicine tasted a lot better too. Remember that pink antibiotic stuff? That was tasty. I loved the baby tylenol too.

Being sick now means falling behind in work. Being sick now means stress. Being sick now means when I get better I’ll have to wash all of the sheets and sweatshirts and tshirts when I get better, because I’ve tried to sweat out my fever for two or three days. The only thing better now then before is my doctor. The one I had as a kid had black hair and a mustache and an evil nurse. The one I have now makes me feel like a kid again; “Look at the birdie! Look at the birdie!” Anything to keep my mind off the fact that I feel bad and always something that at least makes me crack a smile.