Why sickness and I do not mix...

Those who know me know that the semblance of control is key to much of what makes me tick.

I (we) like to think that we are “in control” of our lives. As long as this charade continues, we feel we are happy and all is normal. When this changes we immediately get all woozy and uncomfortable

Most of those who know me have heard me remark as how. “I hate being sick.” Not that anyone really likes being sick but what is funny is that there are days when I am bored or avoiding a distasteful issue that I will daydream of a “sick day” to take the pressure of the ennui away. In reality I don’t want to be sick as much as I just don’t want to be there at that moment. When I do get sick, the one thing that I truly hate, the one thing I spend most of my conscious time avoiding, happens:

I GET BORED!

I am not talking of run-of-the-mill boredom but rather the kind of boredom that strikes when the thought of eating a meal or using the toilet seems like just so much work. Where even though you are sitting in your feverous body stink in your pajamas on the sofa watching an episode of “The Actor’s Studio” that you have seen a few times before and you really don’t like Susan Sarandon and you think James Lipton is an ass and that Fresca tasted funny because you are sick, you cannot raise yourself to take a bath because it would take too much work.

When I am sick, I will attempt to pick up that book I have been attempting to read but is too difficult to get into only to discover that I cannot concentrate on what the writer is attempting to say. I try to watch movies but lose interest 10 minutes into the show and start channel surfing. Worst of all is that if I attempt to sleep, I usually have those bizarre dreams that come from fever and discover upon waking that I really didn’t get much rest but that I did manage to make the sheets all smelly with sweat.

I got home last night from our yearly office holiday party and collapsed. I took a short bath where I fell asleep in the hot water and then proceeded to crawl into bed around 6pm whereupon I did not wake fully till 6am today. It wasn’t an uninterrupted 12 hours of slumber but rather two to three hours of fitful REM punctuated by medicine, food and bathroom breaks. I got through the night primarily because my lovely wife was watching over me from the other room. (She wisely chose not to sleep beside me). Apparently I was talking gibberish last night at some point when she came in to check on me and found me with my arms inside my tee shirt but not covered by the blanket. When she attempted to cover me up, I protested that I was not cold but that I had pulled my arms inside my shirt because “I WAS COLD!”

It was a weird night.

Now its 4pm on Saturday afternoon and I am wondering why I cannot get the energy to go out and get the Christmas tree and trimmings from the garage. Maybe I will watch a movie instead…