There comes a time of the year I always wait for with nervous anticipation and baited breath. It’s that time of the year where the fallen leaves become clumps of mush beneath sodden footsteps. That time when cozying up in bed is more appealing than braving the elements. That time where ever so slowly, the skies get darker and the clouds descend upon us in one fell swoop. This time of the year is make or break, it’s when the men are separated from the boys, the weak from the strong.
Unfortunately, this year I have been lumped with those weak losers.
I’m sick.
I HATE being sick, in my opinion there are no benefits to it. As a youngin’ I longed for this time it of the year because it meant at the first sign of a runny nose I could legitimately skive off school for a good three days before my mum realized I was faking it.
These days, being sick has no merits. I can’t go to work, which makes me poor. I can’t eat a lot, because I don’t have the appetite. I’m confined to my bed, which annoys me. In a nutshell, when I’m stuck in bed for more than a day with nothing to do I get antsy and grumpy.
And I complain. Oh boy, do I complain.
In this regard I’m like a man. When I am sick, I expect the whole world to stop and take pity on me. I expect someone by my bedside to make me pots of peppermint tea, dab my forehead with a cloth and feed me chicken soup. When people don’t pay attention to me when I’m sick, I turn into some slightly awkward and less energetic relation of Godzilla.
I don’t like putting people through this, so in an attempt to shield the general population from the wrath of franzilla, I will lock myself in my room until I am well enough to act normal. However this can sometimes be more of a hindrance than help, as I start grow bitter over the fact that no one has come to find me.
Either way, if you know me, and I get sick –run for the hills, you’re screwed.
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