My Constant Comment's Phooey? A Complaint.

Oh, fuck this. Oh, fuck this.

Namely being sick. I'm really really sick of being sick. I know a week isn't huge in the scheme of things, but I've had it up to here with the new and interesting variations on my symptoms that my body puts forth each day. And since 3 out of 4 participants in my life urge me to see a doctor, I figure I should probably see a doctor. Well, I know I should, it's gone on long enough and with a severity that is not normal for my colds. I just don't want to deal with my damned insurance and finding a time when I can actually go, which probably is never, or at least not til next Saturday.


I hate it. I really hate it. OW.


It makes everything more sucky than it would generally be, whether or not it would be sucky on its own. I want someone to carry me to a big feather bed, and stroke my hair and give me mint chocolate chip ice cream that also soothes and heals my throat on contact, and makes me stop coughing and stop hurting inside my head. I want storytelling and singing just for me, and maybe even Vicks VapoRub, or however the heck that's spelled. Most of all, I just want to feel rested and normal and fine again, in a consistent way, or for more than a couple of hours. And cared for and not like a prickly sick creature.

And I feel frustrated and overwhelmed and sort of colorless, but for all I know that's another symptom of this sickness thing. It certainly relates. And I'm lonely, and all the bits of my ears and mouth and throat and nose hurt, and ARGH.

Soon I will have another book post and that will be much pleasanter, for I am enjoying the book. But for now.... GRRRRRRRRRRRR. :( Love me and give me pleasant friendly things, says sick Becky. Even though I'm growling. Hold up my end of the conversation until I can talk normally again.

Hehe-- I could end with a song, too.

This is all very neat... this is all very smart! This had better be a goodbye, illness, this had better end in the blink of an eye! Don't feel responsible, after all, we're through. I'm not responsible! Hate me or need me, just make sure you feed me... This had better be a goodbye, illness, why, illness, try, illness, bend... This had better come to a, this this this this, this had better come to an end! This had better come to an end.

I don't know if that's quite right anymore, but in the real thing "illness" is mostly "Marvin." Anyway, trust Falsettos to make me feel a bit better. Except why do I have to go to the bathroom again? And why is my toilet stopped up?

Stupid stupid stupid boo. Thank you for listening to this message of disgruntlement. Goodnight.