I will not be going AGAIN tomorrow. 4th day. I hate it. I’ve forgotten my children’s names. They will all fail the SOLs because of this. Who wants to actually be sick on their sick days? Not me.
I have no clue what day it is. I mean, I know it’s Wednesday, but the actual dates are beyond me. Ever since Sunday, I have spent my time in bed, nursing myself through one nasty case of the stomach flu, with the help of my wonderful husband.
It all started at 6am on Sunday. I flew out of bed to commence my 12 hour vomitting marathon that landed me at Patient First that evening. I hate Patient First, but not more than I hate my regular doctor who never called me back, despite me leaving a message stating that I couldn’t even keep down water. Anyway, once I got to Patient First, and once I was asked about 879898 times if I was allergic to any medications, I was given a shot in my boot-ay to stop the nausea. That worked pretty much instantly, but I was still as weak as a little kitten, so the doctor decided he was going to hook me up to an IV after he took some blood. Good thing, too, considering I almost passed out when they took the blood.
After laying me down, taking my blood pressure about 4 times, giving me a cold compress, and helping me sip ginger ale, the nurses started my IV of, as my doctor put it, “Gatorade without the Gatorade.” 1 1/2 liters later I felt much better and had to pee for the first time all day. Ross was extremely amazed by the IV and kept saying, “It’s like you’re eating, but you’re not eating!” Anyway, the doctor sent me home with a prescription for anti-nausea pills, and orders to not push myself and to drink lots of Gatorade.
Ross got me home after a quick stop at CVS to stock up on fluids. I insisted on taking a shower. Dumb idea, friends. After about a minute, I had to beckon my poor husband to help me out of the shower. As he was trying to walk me to bed, I passed out on the floor. I woke up to him slapping me on the face, pleading with me to wake up, to which I responded with an annoyed, “What?!?!?!?!?!” Being the nice man that he is, Ross carried my mostly naked, completely soaking wet self to bed and made me stay there.
I thought I was only going to miss work on Monday. But after getting an email from my teacher friend Janie who said “Don’t you dare come in here tomorrow and get us all sick,” I missed Tuesday. I fully planned to go in today, but, in order to avoid getting reamed out by my mother and Janie, and in efforts to avoid a relapse, I’m taking another day off to make sure I’m 100% before going back in. I also don’t want to expose anyone to this who might potentially give it back to me. So, it’s time to go back to bed, snuggle up with my Gatorade bottle, and spend one more day healing before heading back into the germ-fair that is my classroom.
In efforts to drag me out of my funk, Ross took me out today and got me a sketch pad and some oil pastels. After just about 20 minutes of sketching I felt better than I have in weeks. Apparently my need to be creative had been stifled…or something like that. Anyway, this has shown me that I definitely need an outlet. My lovely bonus sister gave me an offer of joining forces to get each other out of the house and I should take her up on it. I’m thinking of doing something crazy like taking a belly-dancing class or something-just to get me out of my comfort zone and not take myself so seriously.
I’m finding it difficult to be happy about most things lately. I think it stems mostly from the fact that I’m bored as all get out. My job is challenging, of course, but I’m not allowing it to be life-consuming anymore in order to protect my sanity. I have no hobbies because I used to be consumed by my job and never used to have time. We’re on our super-tight budget now so I can go out and do things that I would normally do. Plus, I’m so sucked into the vortex that is television that I don’t want to get involved in anything that might cause me to miss one of my shows. It’s soooooooooooooooo pathetic.
Girls in my class: *giggle, giggle, giggle*
Me: Ok, girls, settle down, finish your morning work.
(Brandon, another student, enters as giggling vaguely subsides)
Brandon: What is everyone laughing at?
Me: Your face.
I have always been fascinated by girls who look perfect all the time. I’m sure you know the ones I’m talking about. They never look rumpled or unkempt. They always smell really good and never have a hair out of place. Their “I don’t care how I look” appearances would require about 2 hours prep time for me. When I look in the mirror, I always see something slightly off, whether it be the length of my pants, the lay of my hair, or just my overall stature. I don’t feel bad about myself when I notice my imperfections, I’m just amazed by the people who don’t have them. If you ever want to see who I’m talking about, just head over to UR. Perhaps my four year journey there spawned this fascination, as it was facing me at every turn.
I am the most jealous person in the world. I don’t mean that I think that Ross is going to cheat on me or anything like that (although I do tend to mutter things under my breath if I think a girl is flirting with him). I mean that I envy what other people have or what other people are like. Not admire. Envy. Covet. I want what they have or I want to be who they are. It’s not in a malicious way or anything, and I feel no resentment towards these people. In fact, I tend to covet things about the people I love most in the world.
It’s a really stupid way to live and a stupid thing to do (what with it being on God’s Top 10 of what *not* to do). I’m blessed with a husband who I love like crazy and whose loves me back, and I have a life much more comfortable and easy than I would ever deserve. My family is constantly growing with new members who I love so much. I have awesome friends who I love more than words can say. I need to just shut the mess up. Shutting up now. Over and out.