Sick Confessions

I kind of enjoy being sick.

Not the throwing up, aching head, raw nose, room spins every time you sit up kind of sick. But more of the "I sound stopped up enough on the phone that I don't feel guilty knocking early for the day and laying around in a pile of tissue and hot tea while I watch Oprah and wait for my husband to arrive home and cook me dinner."

There's something hedonistic about lying on the sofa with a remote and absolutely no intent of moving for the next four hours. I can't do it when I'm well. I'm too busy thinking I should be writing or reading or cleaning or paying attention to the cats or repotting the plant or any one of a million chores. But give me a sniffle and I'm good to go. My brain wave patterns change and I rationalize that it's only right, nay, imperative, that I watch reruns of "Gilmore Girls" and "Friends" while I try to recoup my strength.

I suppose it says something about our lives and society when the only time we feel good about relaxing is if we're sick. That must be why we get sick when we're under stress--our minds are saying, "Enough! Just lay down for 12 hours and stop thinking about things for awhile!"

I can almost control my sickness. If I feel my body start to wear thin I start negotiating. "No, no, you can't be sick until Thursday. I'm too busy too take care of you. I promise, if you get me through this week, you can be as sick as you like on Thursday." And it's amazing how often I'm able to starve off the worst of a cold or flu until the designated sick day.

I say this because I'm not sick now, but it would be a lovely day to fall ill. There's a rain/sleet mixture moving in, the roads are icy, it's dark outside even though it's only 2:30 pm, and the house is warm and stocked with food. What a great day to veg on the couch with a book or stick a movie in and watch TV.

But I have an article due, I'm applying for an artists grant to self-publish my cat book, my desk is gasping to be straightened up, I'm supposed to be editing Millicent, and I haven't journaled in over a week.

Screw it. Bring on the book. I'm pretty sure I feel myself coming down with a sniffle.