From the depths of the sickbed

I am really a horrible patient. People say that all the time and they probably mean it but I -truly- mean it. I hate being sick. I hate this feeling, tired, worn down and completely ugh. Lastnight, I ate a bland dinner, watched some law and order and then a bit of Torchwood and passed out.

So exciting for a friday night huh? The best part was Loren taken TT away so I could properly curl up under the blankets and whimper my way through some british programing. I took the opportunity to suck back some nyquil, of course because nyquil is my sick bed boyfriend whom gives me everything I want and loves me unconditionally. It also gives me some whacked out dreams. Such as giving birth to triplet boys whom Loren named the most un-us names ever. (Helio? wtf? and Kristian, with a K it’s very important that we remember the K and I think it was Henry, or perhaps Harvard. Either way, we’re not naming another boy with an H lest we start a collection). I could actually feel the labor pains and the weight of them in my arms as I stumbled around the religious cult compound we were living on.

I mentioned whacked out dreams right? Best part of nyquil right there in my not so humble opinion. That and the drooling, not moving from one spot coma that you get.

Anyways, that was my night, whacked out dreams, coma and british television. You’re jealous aren’t you now?

Today, I feel marginally better and hungry which means that it’s on the mend. I’m also in a mild panic about my paper which has been languishing since I came down with this mess. I need to get on it and edit the shit out of it before tuesday. I know it’s not terrible now where it stands but lord it could use some work. 12 pages of meandering feminism coming right up!

But first, I’m going to start a medium batch of spaghetti sauce that I can eat for dinner tonight and shove into the fridge for leftovers until payday. We have more than that to eat of course but it’ll give everyone in the house an option for a quick meal if all they have to do is boil up some pasta and heat up some already made sauce. With two men living here who I am generally convinced eat their weight every day and a growing boy who is acting like he’s going through a growth spurt, having meals like that are handy. Last time I made tunafish salad for numerous sandwiches and while Loren took them down with gratifying intensity the rest of the house pronounced them as ‘too spicy’.

However, I’m fairly sure my spaghetti is going to be a good hit though. Pasta generally goes over well with everyone, and though this isn’t my famous all day sauce I’m a good hand at meat sauces.

Of course though standing up with a fever, a severely congested head and a deep rooted desire to face plant into the nearest soft surface should make this fun and exciting. It’s just one sign of my wonderful personality that when I’m on the mend from a violent flu that I decide to make a big batch of complicated sauce. I am freaking insane.

Right, I’ve made a mess of this enough I’m going to go start the sauce and go work on my paper. Probably not the brightest idea I’ve ever had so wish me luck. I hope that I don’t fuck up the essay even more than it already is. I can barely string a sentence together, now seems like the best time to go work on graded writing!

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