pulling a sickie
I’ve had this recurring fantasy over the past 16 months, since Wren was born. That maybe I’d get sick, just for a day, nothing major, just enough to spend the entire day in bed, watching feel-good movies or no-good tv.
Well, that day arrived and let me tell you something… reality doesn’t taste nearly as good as the fantasy. Reality is a shit sandwich. I caught a stomach bug on Thursday morning, courtesy of Wren, courtesy of any of the millions of microbes living on tubes and buses and playground swings and door knobs. A nasty, relentless, dirty son-of-a. And I did indeed get to lie in bed all day, watching crap TV, but crap TV is no fun when the only thing you can stomach is a handful of ice chips and your lips are chapped from dehydration and you’re so weak that you can’t even go up a flight of stairs without sounding like an emphysema patient and you constantly feel like any minute now you’re going to run for the loo. It’s shit, pun quite literally intended, is what it is.
You guys, I puked on my shoes in front of half a dozen construction workers yesterday on the way to the ATM machine to get money to pay for the babysitter that was looking after my daughter while I lay in that fantasy bed of mine.
It’s been a rough few days but I feel like I may actually be up for eating something tonight for the first time in 72 hours. Small victory. I’ll take it. If I’d been efficient, I would have come up with a nablopomo contingency plan, perhaps a couple of pre-written posts ready to publish, but as you may have noticed by my absence, there was no contingency plan. So I pulled a sickie. I pulled two sickies. And I can’t tell you how tempted I am to pull a third so instead, I give you this placemat post until I’m back to my old self.