Last night when I couldn't sleep I was filled with good ideas about what to write about. Today and tonight they are all gone.
I feel like I should crawl into a hole and pull it in after me. This bug is not going away and I'm exhausted from dealing with it. So, after two weeks of listening to husband and children lecturing me about doctors and protesting as loudly as I could I am giving up. Tomorrow I'm getting out of my nice warm bed, putting on decent clothes (leaving my cuddly robe behind) and driving fifty miles to hear a doctor tell me what I already know . . . I've got something that makes me feel like the devil and it will just take a while for it to go away.
This has happened before and it will happen again. I call and say "there is nothing really wrong, just feeling lousy." Nurse says "doctor thinks you should come in. might be serious." I say " I don't have a fever, just can't shake it ." Nurse says "doctor says come in anyway." I go in and who is right? ME. I waste the doctor's time, my time, everybody's time.
Now, I'm not wanting to be sick. I'm not wanting to show everybody up. I just want a little something to help me get well. I've spent two and a half weeks swallowing aspirin and cold medicine and finally give up and what do I get? An exhausting trip and a diagnosis I could have made for myself.
Oh, well, it makes my family happy I guess. And one of these days, who knows, maybe I'll actually have pneumonia? Will that suit me? Hohoho.
I'll let you know what happens after I recover from the trip.
(I guess you know I don't feel like doing any Christmas shopping on the side, either!)
Oh, dreary days! Oh, woe is me! Moan, groan, poor pity-ful me.
Does anyone feel sorry for me?
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