Post of Self-Indulgent Whiny Crankitude

[katallison]

I am so very, very, very, VERY tired of coughing.

I am also so very, very, very, VERY tired of:

--my co-workers' solicitous appearances at my door -- "Are you all right? It sounds like you're DYING in there! You should go home!" Because, work to do, can't go home. (Though I love my co-workers, kindly souls that they are.) (Especially my sweet funny queer-boy colleague A.--::walking in cradling hands carefully in front of him, holding invisible object:: "Hey, I found this in the hall! Your liver, right? I *thought* I heard you coughing it up! You'll probably want this back!")

--also, watching TV. Even watching DVDs of stuff I love on TV.

--also, having no brain whatsoever, and the attention span of a mayfly with ADD.

--also, having no appetite whatsoever for food of any kind.

--also, the entire house being ankle-deep in (a) used tissues and (b) dirty dishes.

--also, my bed, with its rumpled sweat-soaked-and-dried-out-again dirty sheets and heaps of disordered blankets, which I am too tired to change and straighten.

--also, being too damn tired to do anything except crawl into my messy bed by 8 p.m.

Have no concept of how I shall accomplish (a) Christmas shopping, (b) Christmas tree purchase, transport, erection, and decoration, (c) Seekrit Santa story (due in two weeks, ack ack ack!), (d) bazillion overdue projects at work.

Is it 8 p.m. yet? Can I go to bed? ::hack hack hack cough COUGH WHEEEEEEZE::

Comments

[the-shoshanna.livejournal.com]

Poor you! I send you hugs -- being careful of your liver -- and I wish I could come over and do your dishes. (Seriously. I rather like doing dishes.) Stay hydrated, even if you don't have an appetite -- drinking lots of hot liquids, especially ginger tea if you like it, can help make things less miserable.

[katallison.livejournal.com]

Oh, god, if you *could* come do my dishes, I would kiss your feet and venerate you eternally. (Not that I wouldn't do that anyway, just on account of your overall fabulousness... *g*)

I managed to spill a drip-pan full of semi-congealed hamburger grease and drippings all over myself/the kitchen floor yesterday morning, while desperately trying to make some coffee. I sort of half-assedly wiped it up, but man, at some point this weekend, I'm going to have to *scrub the floor* ... *whining, moaning* God, sometimes I just want a *wife*, y'know? (As do we all, of course...)

[the-shoshanna.livejournal.com]

Oh, god, if you *could* come do my dishes

Well, you know, I've never been to visit you in wintertime.

(Hm. Seems to me there may have been a reason for that. Something to do with . . . Minnesota weather?)

But if I did come to visit you, I could smuggle you codeine!

And oh god, I cringe just thinking about that grease spill. (At least it was cold--for a horrified moment my brain hadn't quite caught up with processing what my eyes had read . . . eek.) Last year I was scrubbing at the kitchen floor with one of those scrubby abrasive sponges ('cause a mop don't do nuthin' for the hardened-on stuff), square inch by square inch, when my stepdaughter came over. "See what you have to look forward to as a grown-up?" quoth I. She winced dramatically.

Ignore it; it's not going to get any worse for a while. Go to bed. Have good dreams.