I have a cold and a cold sore. This is my third sick day, I have spent the last two days home in bed. I haven't got out of my pyjamas in that time. When I looked in the mirror first thing this morning, I jump in fright. I am a wreck.
You can understand, when I say, I have not encouraged anyone one to visit, well, anyone new in my life that is. Wink. He's been keen, offering to bring over chicken soup – sweet, huh – but I have declined saying I haven't been up to it. I'm not very good when I'm sick, as I just want to be left alone. Thinking about it, I guess that, actually, makes me really good when I'm sick, as I don't require help from anyone.
I have to say that I am feeling better, the cold feels like it is going and the cold sore has dried too, not even a scab, but dry skin on my bottom lip.
A shave, a shower and a good moisturise and I should be ready to engage with the world again, um, er... tomorrow.
Let’s not rush these things.
2 comments:
Y'know, being sick is a funny thing. I tend not to find myself feeling crook very often (one sick day in three years as an example) but when I am under the weather I'd be delighted if someone wanted to look after me, feed me soup and mop my fevered brow. Of course in reality if that were to happen I'd do everything I could to avoid people and try to be as self sufficient as possible.
For no other reason except that I find my own snotty nose, daggy PJs and rampant bed hair too ofensive to subject anyone else to.
I'm not sick very often either, which, I think, is the reason I'm not very good at it. If they fed me and mopped me and didn't ask too much in way of return, then I'm sure it would be okay.
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