So I got sick the other night. Disgustingly sick. The kind of sick that you wake up around three a.m. and find that your bathroom floor rug has become your new bed for the remainder of the night. I seriously contemplated taking a pillow and blanket into my claw foot tub, but it’s too much of a hassle for this short person to get in and out of.
I called in sick to work. Maybe the third time I have actually called in, in the morning and missed a full day of work because I wasn’t feeling well. Normally what happens is I drag myself into the office feeling like death warmed over and then try to do all my work before lunch and request a half day. Hardly ever do I miss a full day of work.
I cannot afford to be sick. However much I would love to lay on my couch and moan my way into delirium I make myself get up and go sit behind my computer and check emails, make phone calls, place ads, do billing. Billing makes me nauseous all over again. I better quit thinking about billing.
So as I was attempting to recover from that fun night I watched the entire seventh season of How I Met Your Mother. And loved every minute of it. As well as one of my weird guilty pleasures of Ink Master. Have you seen the tattoos these people can make? It’s amazing. My brother and I share an interest for it, and he laughs at me as I sit in my crafty apartment watching tattooed bad boys and tough broads getting “inked up.” Beep-overs occurring every two minutes.
That is a picture of the contenders this year, all vying for the title of Ink Master. It’s pretty intense stuff… seriously guys, it is.
I snacked on some Chex and made some chamomile tea. Like the seventy-year-old woman I am. At one point I mustered enough strength to vacuum and clean the bathroom. I’m having friends over for a Christmas movie night, complete with hot chocolate and popcorn, tonight and there is no reason they needed to witness the aftermath of my illness. Sick I know.
I have not crossed the line yet. Crossing the line would be telling you what I had to eat leading up to my body rejecting it all. I will leave that up to your fanciful imaginations dear readers. You are welcome.
I went to borrow Sister Silent’s phone charger and tried to get some comfort from Crazy Lady. My mother people practically shoved me out the door. No sympathy from her. No asking if she can make me some tea or toast. She couldn’t even utter, “Sorry you are sick.” She was too busy saying, “Well great, we better not get it.”
Barney, Marshall, Lilly, Robin, and Ted were comfort enough for me I guess. But after seven seasons I’m really dying to know how he met their mother.