Sick. As. Balls. I can’t catch a break with this cold. Sore throat, aches, exhausted, coughing, and phlegm. So much phlegm. I used to hardly ever get colds. I would get stomach bugs because I eat like an idiot, and headaches, but almost never colds. Since August was born, I’ve been sick more times than I can count. Plus, the last two times I’ve been sick, Adam and August have been completely fine. So I don’t even know who to be mad at for giving me their disgusting snot germs. And it’s screwing with me. The germs are screwing with me. Because I will have a day or two where I feel way better, and I start acting normal and I put on a bra and start getting back into not-sick mode. Then the next day, the germs give me a roundhouse kick to the face to show me who the big boss is. Fack.
I’ve got pretty solid habits when I am sick. I eat condensed garbage soup because it is nostalgic for me and also because I love garbage and misery loves sodium. I also eat a crap ton of popsicles. The ones packed full of HFCS. Delicious poison. It’s exciting to me that I have reached a level of maturity in my life where I can eat all three flavors of popsicles in the box. I used to be just a grape girl. Grape has always been my favorite artificial flavoring. And I would eat cherry in a pinch. But now I am an adult, and I can even eat orange. I don’t even dig through the box anymore. I just reach in and grab a frozen sugar stick and accept whatever flavor the universe deals me. Grown up.
Watching an absurd amount of television is also a big part of being sick. Adam and I don’t watch much TV at all anymore. So laying in bed and watching almost an entire season of House of Cards was a special treat, even though I felt crap on crap on crap. I had tried watching this show last year. It was entertaining, but nothing special, and I got about halfway through the fifth episode before something interrupted me and I just never went back. Then I finally rewatched the fifth episode. The first half was boring, and I couldn’t figure out why everyone was peeing their pants about this show. Then I got through the second half and sweet cheezus, everything happened! I had apparently stopped watching before anything good ever happened, and two minutes after that point, all the shit was in all the fans. So good. Go watch. Then lets talk about it. I need more friends that want to talk about the shows I watch, because all my friends have cable and watch Real Housewives while I’m just an actual housewife that watches Netflix.
The rest of the time that I am sick, I whine. Gold medal whiner. It’s so nice to talk about how everything hurts and nothing feels good. Bless Adam’s heart, because he has listened to me list my symptoms so many times this week and hasn’t attempted to smother me in my sleep yet. Gold medal husband. Thanks for letting me live, honey.
I’m gonna go eat my ninth popsicle of the day. Seacrest out.