|When I was sick, my Small Dog stayed with me constantly! I know it|
sort of looks like I'm holding her with my feet in this picture, but she
actually loves laying that way. It is like a foot hug to her. She is kind of a
Last weekend I got really sick. I'll spare you the gory details. Sunday morning I felt a little down, but by Sunday afternoon I was curled up on the couch il a ball of sweating, shivering, aching misery.
What do people generally do when they're sick? Like normal people I mean? Does everyone else in the whole world just get up and go about their business while sick, only occasionally walking into the bathroom to very neatly, calmly vomit into the toilet, before getting right back to business as usual? My mom hates it when I'm sick. I guess she sees it as a sign of weakness or something. I tend to get really emotional (more than usual, LOL!) when I get feverish or tired, so at one point I was actually sobbing into my pillow because I was afraid my mom would be angry at me for lying down but I was so tired and achy and icky I just couldn't deal with being vertical. My dad was way more nice about it... he went and got me ginger-ale and popsicles! And he walked Small Dog for me before bed so I wouldn't have to.
So I was really sick for like
Yesterday was my first day back at work... I hadn't eaten anything in the past four days except for a slice of bread, a popsicle, and some vegetable soup, and then on Wednesday night I had forced some noodles down my throat, so I was in a pretty weak state. By the time I got home, I was ready to pass out! (Which I did, for several hours, as soon as the Trick-or-Treaters stopped coming!)
My mom has been pissed off at me at all times lately. Mostly because she thinks I'm lazy. I get tired a lot even when I'm not sick (I always, have, even as a kid. I was never one of those little kids who loved to get up early and stay up late... I cherished my bed! Still do!) I don't think I'm lazy, because I still manage to do things I have to do, like go to work and do my homework. But it is difficult to force myself to do the crappy things she wants me to do, like clean my room. And she thinks I'm such a lazy, selfish, disgusting person, like I'm a bug on the ground that she wishes she could squish, except for the aggravating fact that the bug is a relative of hers. It's not like an Odd Couple thing where the neat person and the messy person are always annoying each other. It's like she thinks I'm the devil incarnate because I'm cluttered.
The problem is, if you know my mom personally and I told you this, you'd think I was nucking futs. She's very good at putting together a lovely picture for her public, and if you were around she'd have a big smile on her face and maybe lightly tease me about things, as if to say, "See, Angel is a hot mess, but I'm such a good mom, I just roll with it!" The way she cleans the house, and keeps it perfect, the living room looking like a museum, no dust, no angry words, no threats of eviction, nothing troubling to see here!
Would be different if this started when I was an adult, but it has been all my life. So although, as a grown-up, I am a lot more capable of dealing with her words than I was, when I was, say, seven, part of me is still the battered little seven-year-old who just wants her mama to love her.
And people don't believe me. Not even my brother, who grew up in the same house as me... she treated him differently; she was strict maybe, but she enjoyed him more, and she actually agged him on to tease me or put me down as well when we were little, so I got the pleasure of hearing my mom's cruel words coming out of my little brother's mouth on plenty of occasions!
And maybe it is because I've been sick, and maybe because I'm off my meds, but lately I feel like there is a volcano inside me ready to blow. Sometimes I even wish I could die, which would be better for my mom so she could be the super-strong lady who lost a daughter and still manages to keep her house perfect and her work perfect and blah blah blah. I have to stop and remind myself that there are people on this earth who do love me. I have to say, "I can't die, it wouldn't be fair to my dad, my little cousins would be traumatized, it wouldn't be fair to Freddy because he shouldn't have to wonder what his auntie Angel was like, it wouldn't be fair to Auntie M and Uncle J because they want to see me again, it wouldn't be fair to my dogs, it wouldn't be fair to my grandparents to have to lose their oldest grandchild, it wouldn't be fair..."
And then at one point during being sick, I really thought I would die. My sinuses blew up and my face got all swollen up like a chipmunk, and for some reason my dad thought the infection could spread to my brain or my heart and kill me. So although I went to the doctor and got antibiotics, that night I was worried that the antibiotics wouldn't start working soon enough, and that I'd die in my sleep.
Faced with the idea of actually dying, I was so scared, I stayed up just about all night trying to make sure I stayed breathing! It was the night before Halloween, and it almost seemed like fate that I would die.
In the morning, I was surprised and grateful to be awake for a new day.
But by a few hours later, when my mom started yelling at me about something random again, I couldn't help thinking, too bad I didn't die after all...
I know I'm supposed to be more positive than this. But this is my blog so sometimes I'm allowed to be sad.
This is the worst blog entry anyone ever wrote. It doesn't even have a topic sentence! A trained centipede could have written this! Hey, now that I wrote that sentence, I wonder how many people will find this entry by Googling "trained centipede?"