I'm Sick!

My first week of unemployment didn't go so well; I'm sick. I have a cold, but it's not the, "*Sniff.* *sniff, sniff* 'I'm fine I'm just *sniff* clogged up'" kind of cold. It's the fever, headache, chest pain, dizzy, a box and a half of tissues gone, mouthbreathing because your nose is useless, "Dear God just take me now!" kind of cold.

It started last Sunday. Monday when I woke up, I was pretty sure my chest was on fire. It felt like some sadist had stuffed my lungs full of steel wool and let it spring up into my throat. This went on for a few days; my only relief was tea. I stoped eating because it made me ill, and I still can't taste anything. When I tried to walk I got dizzy, so I mostly laid on the couch.

Thursday I felt a little better, so I slinked over to Rob as sexily as I could and sat down in his lap. I'm pretty sure my frizzy hair, runny nose and grubby PJ's weren't exactly Playboy material, but I was working with what I had. Which wasn't much.

"Hey." I said in my sexy nasily voice. I wiggled my eyebrows. "How's about you and me?"

"Honey," he said, and he hugged me, "you smell weird. Why don't you take a shower instead?"

Aside from getting rejected, though, it's good to have a nice boyfriend around when you're sick. He might have been a little too good to me though. Rob's Jewish, which means he has a Jewish mother, which means that he's inherited some "unique" theories on how to get better when you're ill. I had to take two really hot showers every day. If I complained about it (which I did, because after laying so warm on the couch all day, I didn't want to get all wet or deal with my hair) he dragged me into the shower anyhow. "Don't you feel better?" he would ask, triumphant, as I toweled off. I have to admit, I always did.

His other method was loading me up with layers; PJ's, sweatshirts and lots of blankets, and then letting me "sweat out the sickness", but I'm pretty sure that one only works on Long Island.