if my wishhh could come true, somehow

This is the weirdest sickness I've ever had. Every sickness I ever remember has involved boxes and boxes of kleenex, a sore throat, and a lot of mucus. It's usually all jammed up in my head. With this one, my head is pretty much fine, but my stomach feels volatile and rumbly, and my whole body feels weak and lame. Ben went in to work late today, and we walked over the Gallery Cafe for a nice crossword puzzle breakfast. I underestimated the difficulty of doing this. #1: It's very cold outside, which I didn't know having been holed up inside for a full day and a half. #2: I didn't know what to order. Thought I should stay away from coffee, was kind of hungry but scared of all the cheese and spicy things. Finally got orange-ginger-mint tea, scrambled eggs, and toast with jelly, which actually suited me very well. I was glad to get some vitamins into my system. #3: It was the most shameful crossword ever crossed. We just couldn't figure it out. It was the one in the Reader that we always do, challenging but fun. We always finish it, even if it takes some time, even if we need to ask the internet for just the last one or two empty boxes. But man, we sucked. We barely did half of it. Ben jokingly said, "I blame you. This is about how far I get when I try to do one by myself." I agreed. It was hard for me to even look at the page of words, let alone get my brain to start processing them into clever answers. He had to go to work, which made me snuggle his shoulder hard and tell him how much I was going to miss him. (What? Cripes. What a lameo.) I left for home. The walk home seemed brutal. All I could think about was this plaid down TV-watching blanket we have in the living room, and how much I wanted to be warmed up underneath it. I made it through the door, took off my coat, got under the blanket and slept for 1.5 hours.

In 45 minutes I have to go to work. Thank God that today's job does not involve 2-year-olds, because they'd run me right over. I'm just gonna chill out, the phones shouldn't be busy, read a little or watch movie trailers on the internet, listen to music live and recorded, and nap backstage if the need should arise.

I'm like the lame little sick kid, the runt of the litter. Maddeningly different from the strong, capable persona I am proud to embody most of the time. Just a little wimp. I'm a poor orphan from an Olde English novel. 'Ey love, give Lindsay that last crumb. She's a weak g'el. She needs 'er energey. You let 'er be now, so's she can get sum reyst. There now. Dream lit'le one, abou' a magic'oh day when you'll be strong enuf to ryde a bicyc'oh, up an' down the streets ov town.