This is the first time I have been ill since I became single (well, ill that was not alcohol related, to clarify). Therefore, I am used to having some stinky stupid boy there to feel sorry for me, fetch me water and listen to me carry on about how I will soon be dead from said illness.
It started Saturday morning. I woke up with a scratchy throat. I thought nothing of it and went to work. The big game was on and by the time I got home at 1 p.m., I felt all body ache-y and irritable. I attributed this to the score of the game (like a zillion to two, Ohio State) and ripped my Michigan jersey off in the middle of my dining room and crawled into bed where I proceeded to sleep for hours.
I woke up even sicker around 6 p.m. This is when bewilderment set in. Who would take care of me? Who would bring me medicine at regular intervals and rub Vicks on my chest??? How does one get through being sick... ALONE? I had no boyfriend to call and whine to. On any other occasion I would call my mommy. But not this time!
This time would be different!
I steeled my nerves- I was going to go this one... alone.
Step One: Find the Nyquil. I crawled into the kitchen and rifled through the cupboard. No Nyquil. What sort of fuckery was going on? I always have Nyquil. After a moment of consideration I figured Dayquil would be better anyway, since it wasn't all that late yet.
No Dayquil. I looked around frantically and saw the half empty bottle of Wine From Hell my friend Thomas so generously stole for me on Thanksgiving sitting on the counter, gleaming like my own personal savior. I grabbed it and took a giant swig.
Note to self: Wine, especially DISGUSTING DRY WINE, does NOT help a head cold.
Step Two: Go to store. I also had to feed my friend's cat, as she was out of town for the weekend. I did not want to complete either of these tasks (again, a stinky stupid boy would have been very handy right about then). I decided to get The Cat Feeding out of the way first, then stop at the store on my way back home. When I got to her apartment to feed Hodgie, I noticed a bottle of vodka sitting out in plain sight (ok, it was in her cupboard, but who cares about pesky details?). Suddenly, the words of my grandfather rang in my head about how good, strong Southern whiskey will cure almost ANYTHING ("Have a sip- it's good for what ails ya!") and I grabbed the bottle and quickly swilled what was left (luckily it wasn't much).
Note to self: Cheap vodka is not the same as homemade Southern whiskey.
When I was sure I wasn't going to throw up, I left my friend's apartment. I thought about leaving her a note ("Sorry I drank the last dregs of your SHIT vodka in an attempt to cure my cold. Why couldn't you have homemade Southern whiskey like my Poppy makes in his garage? You suck. XOXOXOXO Amanda") but at that point I just wanted to get my medicine and go home.
The trip to Kroger was a blur. I know I left with my arms full of Nyquil, Dayquil, throat lozenges, chocolate chip cookies, tortilla chips and some Saran Wrap. Don't ask.
Step Three: Medicate. At this juncture, I was feeling that last burst of energy a person gets before sickness completely engulfs them:
"Who needs MEDICINE? Medicine is for pussies!"
I proceeded to do a load of laundry and then, I shit you not, I decided to EXERCISE. Yes, I did like 50 chair dips, my yoga rings and some weird side kick thing that I was convinced would rid me of my muffin top overnight.
Mistake.
Just as I was about to pop in Tae Bo with Billy Blanks, my body began its protest. I started to feel really, really cold even though my body was super warm from all the exercising. My head was spinning. I aborted my mission to lose ten pounds overnight and, with shaky hands, opened the Nyquil. Down the hatch it went.
Fun fact: Half a glass of wine after a dose of Nyquil makes everything niiiice. You forget that you are ill. And single. And not ten pounds lighter. Everything is just peachy. Wine after Nyquil makes spending a shit ton of money at Sephora.com seem like the right thing to do.
I chatted with my friends for awhile online. I know I told my friend Tom goodnight. I know I brushed my teeth.
I woke up at 8:20 a.m. in a puddle of my own drool. It was very sexy. Such a pity there was no boyfriend sleeping next to me to see it. I contemplated throwing myself down the basement steps so I wouldn't have to go to work, but there were SO many ways that could backfire.
I could knock a tooth out (a giant fear of mine- losing a tooth. I have a recurring nightmare about it).
I might not get hurt at all.
I might break both ankles instead of just spraining one.
I could lose an eyeball.
Etc.
Work was a clusterfuck. I found myself looking for creative ways to end my life- getting my head shut in the cooler, jumping off the top of the freezer, laying in the parking lot. My head was pounding. I coughed so much I actually threw up in the bathroom. My nose was all stuffy. It was bad, people. Really bad. To make matters worse, physically I looked like a crackwhore.
My lovely co-workers were kind enough to acknowledge that their little drama queen was on death's doorstep and let me leave first rather than third as scheduled. I came home to find the neighbor's dog blissfully going through my trash, which he had so kindly spread all over my yard. I'm not sure what I said to my neighbor when I went over there to let him know his 120 pound German Shepherd had yet again helped himself to my garbage (at least he didn't take a crap at the foot of my steps like he normally does), but I'm hoping I was semi-polite.
After TrashGate, I sank into bed. I think I even kissed my bed. Five hours later when I woke (in a puddle of drool again, but this time I think it was because I had a "sexy dream"), I felt a little better. Not enough to pop in that Billy Blanks video, but well enough to crawl to the bathroom, get myself water, etc.
The moral of the story is this: I don't need a man to take care of me when I'm ill! I can overmedicate myself and whine to friends just fine without some asshole there to help me! I didn't even bother my mommy till this evening.
Does this mean I'm a bonafide independent woman now?
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