I want my mommy!
Click to viewI'm sick. I hate being sick.
When I'm sick I always revert to myself at seven years-old. I'M SICK! I WANT TO BE DOTED ON! I WANT MY MOMMY!
I spent the better part of twelve hours today... in a coma. Slipping in and out of an interesting haze in which I hallucinated friends on TV. Not the show FRIENDS. My friends... on the TV (which was odd because I was replacing them for characters in season 2 Secret Diary of a Call Girl).
There are some guidelines I follow when sick. Which I will share. Because I'm feeling benevolent and like a martyr. You're welcome.
Step one: Fluids. Tea. 'Nuff said.
Step two: Supplies. Am surrounded by many DVDs produced by the fabulous BBC. Also, cellphone handy with which to call in for more tea, or BBC. However, be careful with sick text messaging. It's a bit like drunk texting. Only less sexy and more symptom-y.
Step Three: Location. Very important blanket from my Nonna's house. Radiates with maternal affection. Tiffi also comes in handy with the warmth and affection. Also for some reason, when I am ill, I NEVER stay in my own bed. Wisdom teeth? My parents room. HINI? Nessa room. Whatever the hell I have now: living room sofa. (Upon pondering this, I think it's deep seeded link to my reading the Velveteen Rabbit as a girl... when the boy has to be quarantined during scarlet fever and all his toys burnt upon his recovery. What can I say? I'm attached to my stuff). So I set myself up equal distance from kitchen and TV.
TV is very important. If you're sick and Canadian it runs down thusly: Mr. Dressup, Fred Penner, and then the Price is Right with Bob Barker.
You know what I found out today? Bob Barker? GONE! Drew F-ing Carey. Made it all kitschy instead of honestly out of date and quaint! And they took Mr. Dressup and his Tickle Trunk off the air not even on those high channels! That man has been on TV for... four decades? Now Canadian kids will never learn how to make a banjo out of a Kleenex box and rubber bands.
Steps to Avoid: Googling your symptoms. I apparently have cancer of the everything. Thanks Google.
And then there are the intangibles. I will always want my mom to do that thing that all moms do... something my sick and weakened mental state has linked with 'cure' rather than 'diagnose'. The hand on the forehead. Sadly, you can't self-medicate on head-holding.
Another really big part is complaining. It's cathartic. Makes you feel better. However it does annoy the crap of anyone within earshot (or in my case, access to the internet.) But... you know. I'm okay with that. Misery loves company.