I hate being sick! (Who doesn't?) But not because I feel so terrible. I hate everything else about being sick. My house is a wreck. For two days I have lived as a pink snuggie burrito on the recliner in my den, watching Tori and Dean in an atmosphere comparable to hoarders, if people hoarded tissues, toys, empty water bottles and craft-paint-splattered TV trays. Being sick also gives me WAY too much free time to think about things like how fat I am, and how I can't currently do anything about the filth or the weight while I'm down and out, and how I'm contributing to the issues by forgoing a nice healthy home cooked meal and opting to grab something from Wendy's because I'm not up to standing at the stove, stirring, coughing and infecting the whole lot of us. That is, if I even had anything in the house to cook. I REALLY need to go to the store. We're drinking water from the cooler without ice! The horror!
Oh, what's that? I could be making better choices by picking up something from a place with a healthier menu? Yeah, well you and my conscience can kiss my fat, sick...
The Scientist has a stack of FINISHED homework in his backpack that he's failed to turn in "because he forgot" since the middle of last week and I don't have a chance to talk to his teacher about it because I look as bad as I feel and keep waving him over to me from a safe distance near the van after school. He came over to give me a hug last night before bed and smelled like dirty hair. I made him get back in and wash it again, but I'm sure it's too late and he is already known as the stupid smelly kid who's mother doesn't love him or care if he does his homework or not. Honey told me that he sent him to school in ripped jeans this morning because I am so far behind in laundry there wasn't anything else available. Lets just skip "smelly" and "stupid" and call him what he actually is, FERAL!
I'm a real ray of sunshine when I'm sick. I don't know if the prayers for my returned health are actually for me anymore or for themselves.