11.13.09
I have tried to write about other things and couldn’t. Therefore, self-mockery seemed in order.
It’s come to my attention that perhaps no one is aware that they should be feeling sorry for me right now. The world continues to spin on its axis and everyone is carrying on with their own lives, focused on their own problems, even though I’m sick. It’s weird, right? To expect a grown woman in her thirties to know what to do with herself when she’s sick, as though most people her own age somehow manage not only to take care of themselves, but growing children too? Ha! See? I knew it! It’s weird!
Perhaps this has been some kind of miscommunication. Perhaps people aren’t fully aware of the gravity of my situation. I have a mild fever, people. A MILD FEVER. Sometimes I feel cold and kind of achy. Yeah. I KNOW. How such things can be trifled with when there’s an international pandemic going on is beyond me. People are critically ill and dying, but what about me? What about that gentle aching in my shoulder that can almost be ignored?
And to make matters worse, my totally flexible employers have been entirely sympathetic and understanding. When the doctor ordered bed rest and was so serious about it he wrote a note to my employer*, my supervisor shoved his note back at me, muttering things about how entirely unnecessary it was, and gave me a hug. And, get this. GET THIS. I can work from home in these situations, if I’m up to it, so that I don’t have to use up my sick days. Sure, my sick days are paid and guaranteed because I’m in a unionized environment, but they’re also banked so that one day I’ll get paid out for those days. How is that fair? Or you know what else? I can choose to go in next Friday to make up time, even though I usually get every third Friday off — in addition to my four weeks’ paid vacation, that is. How can I be expected to work a day that most places I would be required to work anyway?!?
So, OK FINE, I have many attractive perks and options that most people, even those of us lucky enough to be in the industrialized world don’t have (except for maybe the French), but I have big problems here, BIG problems that overshadow all of that. Being home alone all day is boring. I may get to sleep in and then shuffle to the living room to loaf about in my pajamas while no less than two cats snuggle me, but maybe, JUST MAYBE, I don’t want to watch movies anymore. Did you ever think of that? Or maybe people aren’t posting to their blogs at nearly the rate I need them to. Or maybe I am in between library books and am being forced to wait until this evening for my husband to bring me home new ones. (I know! A husband who brings me things! ON TOP OF EVERYTHING ELSE. My GOD the humanity.) Yeah. They’re here and they’re real, these problems. REAL.
And did you hear the part about the mild fever?
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*Well, OK, yes. The slightly serious thing in this whole mild (MILD!) debacle is that I have a pulmonary infection. Also mild (MILD!), I suspect, in the grand scheme of pulmonary infections. Except that it affects my breathing in a most inconvenient (yet mild!) way. Oh that’s right, folks. A MILD INFECTION. You can go ahead and send chocolates, puppies, and kittens directly to my home address. Thank you.
Also, yes, those who have been subjected to my Facebook status updates, my tweets or, let’s say as a ball park figure, those who have been within a 10 mile radius of my person in the last several months will have heard me inevitably whining about being sick PREVIOUS to now. I have been sick this whole time. So. I probably should have gone to the doctor sooner. If you want to feel sorry for me for legitimate reasons, you can pity me for being such a dumb-ass.
[Post inspired by Jen who managed to make me smile today, but who also once cracked me up on her old blog talking about her renos. You should go read her new blog.]