On Being Sick or as I think of it, The End of the WORLD

Me. RIGHT NOW.

When I was little, being sick wasn't so bad. I got to stay home from school, watch soaps and The Princess Bride (ok, that didn't start until I was like 8 or so because I was afraid of the Rodents of Unusual Size and the Six-Fingered Man until then), eat chicken soup, basically get a free lazy day. My mom would make me a special sick bed on the sofa that I got to feel cozy and snuggly on all day. Aside from the achy feverish feeling, it was kind of awesome. In high school, sick days got even better because by that point I had discovered the BBC's 6-hour Pride and Prejudice mini-series and I watched all 6-hours in their empire-waisted, British-accented, Colin Firth-filled entirety every time. I miss those days.

I also remember when I was younger whenever my dad was sick. My mom would always say, "When your dad's sick, no one else in the world is sicker (more sick?) than him." Well, thanks a lot Dad, because now that's me.

I used to be a trooper when I was sick. I would slurp my chicken soup and quietly watch TV without complaint. I would try to go to school the next day even if I still felt somewhat bad. Well now that I'm an adult, that is OVER.

I am no longer any form of trooper. I hate troopers. In fact, when I'm sick, I hate everything. No one feels as bad as me right now and I hate everyone and everything because of that. I'm like 15% sure I'm dying even though all I have is a low-grade fever and what appears to be some sort of cold, but whatever, it's SERIOUS.

The turning point was when I went to college and suddenly I kind of had to fend for myself when I was sick. I would feel sick, walk into the living room of my apartment and go, "Where's MY SOFA SICK BED?!?" I would walk into my kitchen and go, "Where's my CHICKEN SOUP!?" I'd look at my planner and realize I had a mandatory class to attend and go, "Where's my SICK NOTE?!" Oh right, you need a mom for that. I had a mom, but not with me in post-high school land (ok, so my parents lived 10 minutes from my college campus, but I didn't live at home anymore and who knows what she was up to when her life didn't have to revolve around me and my sick needs anymore!). And sick notes don't work on college professors. And the chicken soup from the dining hall tasted like booboo.

NOT the dining hall's chicken soup.

Then law school came. I lived in Chicago in a small apartment with my cat. Well, my cat was useless when I was sick. Even crappy chicken noodle soup wasn't a 10-step walk away. And so my self-pity during illness continued to snowball out of control.

Now we come to present time where I live in Adult Land. I have a job. I can't just take sick days especially because I'm saving my leave time for holidays, so I have to go to work. I have to wake up at 5:45 in the morning with a fever and mucus pouring out of my face and go to work and get everyone else sick. Suck it coworkers! I have to try and look presentable which is really hard when your face is running. Yeah, my face. Not just my nose because I'm sicker than EVERYONE.

Now I have a husband, so you'd think, awesome! Someone to pity me and take care of me! (He's back in town by the way, yay!) But no. He's a med student. Not that he isn't helpful to a reasonable degree, but he is every bit aware of just how sick I am, which does not match how sick I am in my head, 15% chance of dying. He just tells me drink a lot of water and eat Coldeeze which have a weird aftertaste and I hate them. The problem is, it's not him at all. He's actually great and perfect for a normal sick person. But I am not. I am a sick MONSTER. I don't even know what I want him to do. I just want him to pull an I Dream of Jeannie and do the crossed-arm, head-bob, winky thing and make me better. (Plus, seeing him do that would be priceless.) If I could go home now and have a sick day high school style, I'd probably still be a nightmare because I'm at the point now where my self-pity knows no bounds. Now go away. I hate you. I hate everything. I need Kleenex.

In Appreciation of My Parents

I've been away from the Internets for the Labor Day weekend and I missed it, but I didn't. The main reason I did not really miss the Internets is because my parents came to visit. I'm just going to get this out of the way and sorry if it sounds too braggy, but My Parents Are Awesome. For real, they are two of my best friends (and that's not because I have no other friends) but they still manage to be parents too in the support me all the time, give me candid advice and not spoil me rotten kind of way. I love them and not just because I have to.

My dad is hilarious, generous and protective without being overbearing. My mom is truly kind, fun and is my willing sounding board whenever I need to vent, which is often. I should also mention that I'm an only child, but I wouldn't have it any other way. Not because I get everything I want and am super spoiled but because we are a team, the three of us. I'm sure siblings are awesome but I didn't feel like I was lacking anything from not having them when I grew up other than a well-developed pain tolerance. (No really, I immediately cry when I get smacked on the butt. It happened twice in high school. Twice.) The reason my childhood felt so full is because of my mom and dad and the choices they made in raising me and the people they are as role models.

This weekend when they came to visit, it was like vacation even though I was technically the hostess. That's because with my parents I have lots of fun, eat great food, laugh a lot and feel completely myself all the time. It's not stressful. Well, it's not stressful except when I'm trying to figure out what to order at the next awesome restaurant they take me to. Did I mention I eat really well when they visit? Thank god my mom and I went to hot yoga too!

The last part that's great about my parents is that I'm self-aware enough now where I can recognize I get some of my best qualities from them. My mom passed on her passion for music, movies and television. I am a pop culture junkie thanks to her. My dad passed on his ability to make people laugh (which I like to think I do) and a desire to entertain. I have my mom's smile and blue eyes like my dad. I sound like my mom when I laugh and talk (so I've been told, a person never really knows what they sound like to other people) and I have inherited a lot of my dad's mannerisms. From both of them I've inherited the abilities to be fiercely loyal, to give really good hugs and to be passionate about what I love. They are the best parts of me and I feel so lucky that I have two such extraordinary people to call Mom and Dad.