Sick

I'm sick. I hardly get sick, except for my constant battle with my blood pressure and that stupid pain in the ball of my left foot. But you know what I mean.

There is a raging tempest where my brain used to be. Every sinew in my body untwining and unraveling, snapping and crackling. And the shadow of death is looming over this broken body beckoning me to let it all go. Okay. I exaggerate. I do that everytime I'm sick. Everytime I get sick, I slip into this mini-depression and wish that I was dead or something. I'm a whiner, what can I say.

Whiners need TLC. But even that I managed to screw up.

Last night I was exceptionally crabby. It was the flu, but I didn't know it then. I just felt crappy. Mae said something and I snapped at her, "Go to sleep lah!" Half an hour later, I had begun to feel the full effects of the flu so I resigned to bed.

True to the whiner that I am, I tried to weasel sympathy from Mae. "Honey, I don't feel well," I said in my most pitiful, quivering voice. And Mae said, "Go to sleep lah!" Boy, did that sting. But I knew I had it coming. So I went to bed wallowing in self-pity.

This morning, I awoke as cheerful as a church on Monday. Mae saw and took pity on me. Her big hulking giant had fallen and can't get up.

Thank God. Nothing cures a flu faster than a little TLC. :)