I hate being sick. It is the worst thing.
Ronda was sick for the entire Christmas break. It sucked. And now I am sick. I hate being sick. Ronda is out of town until tomorrow afternoon. She’s been gone since Wednesday evening. I came over to my in laws house because my boys are really annoying me. I can’t believe how loud they are. And their farts really stink.
I want to do nothing other than sleep… or maybe die. Either would be fine. I almost didn’t get the boys from school today. I woke up 3 minutes after their school let out. Luckily we live close.
I realize I’m sorta rambling & not really discussing much, but I want to keep my commitment/challenge to write 500 words everyday for 30 days. I can do this.
In reality, being sick right now most frustrates me because it is keeping me from running. I have a race in nine days. A marathon. I need to make sure I am ready and taking a couple of unplanned days off from running doesn’t help my anxiety level when it comes to ensuring I am prepared. I’m sure I will be fine, but I still am a little perturbed I couldn’t run eight miles today. Just makes the next few days busier with miles.
I am very excited about the race, it’s going to be awesome.
But being sick really sucks.
I ache from the top of my head to the bottom of my feet. I’m coughing, sneezing and wishing I was dead. No fun.
I am glad I have family living close enough to me they can help in a situation like this. If we lived away from family and Ronda was gone it would be all out lord of the flies at my house with my boys. There is literally no telling what they would do. I would wake from a medicine induced coma to find rodents and small woodland animals in various states of consumption and taxonomy in my living room. The dogs would have war paint on them. The whole house would be a giant fort. They would be hopped up on Mountain Dew and donuts. It would be epic levels of awesome manliness by three young men. Awesome.
I can see Ronda now, she comes home and wonders why the house looks like a warzone. She’ll wonder why the dogs have war paint. The boys would probably have war paint too. How do you explain that? Uhh, honey I have absolutely no idea what happened… that would work about as well as if you admitted you knew exactly what was happening. You’re screwed either way. Nice.
Lucky for me, this isn’t the case because I have family close. Family I can run to for help. Family who can handle the boys while I sleep in the next room. Family who will tame the savage beasts and choke on the farts that smell like dead wildebeest.
Turns out being sick could be far worse than it is.