Saturday, April 23, 2011

I'm in Deep Self-Pity Cold Mode

Every cough is bone wracking and I'm making sure that they are loud and pathetic enough for all the men in my household to hear.  In fact, I believe I'm dying of some sort of unknown green alien cough cancer but I won't share this information with Eric because he'll just laugh at me and will not take my funeral arrangements seriously.

I feel deep grief when my dogs don't realize the depth of my illness.  They should know and understand that it is I, not Papa, or William, and certainly not Austynn who buys them their special peanut butter/apple treats.  It is I who picks out the special toy-toys which litter the floors of each and every room.  Spoiled mutts.  If it weren't for me, they would be eating cold, dry, dog food out of nasty, dirty bowls (if at all) every day.  They should snuggle and comfort me in my illness not beg for treats at my cold and nearly lifeless feet.  They are mercenary.

Why don't my birds sing and twitter when I walk by?  When I'm healthy and in good spirits, I talk low and sweetly to them being sure not to frighten my poor little Mikey bird, my Zebra Finch who is at death's door.  I change their newspaper, give them spray baths and scape their bird crap off my walls (again, I am in awe that they can shoot poop so far away from their cage).  No.  They merely watch me with weary eyes as I creep past the study balancing my bowl of coffee that I had to make myself this morning in a state of deep exhaustion.  Sigh. 

Don't get me started on my husband!  Is there really a two day limitation in caring for his sick wife and the mother of his children?  Was there an ulterior motive to working from home yesterday but now that it's Saturday she must fend for herself?  I'll remember this.  In fact, in a few minutes, I will crawl back into bed and not stifle my cough behind my hand.  I'll roll towards him and hack away with such abandon that the sheets will need to be changed -- but not by me.  No.  I do not have the energy.  I am spent from making my own coffee.  I feel perfectly content in my greasy, three day no shower, tissue up the nose, cough drop after-taste state.  I will merely lie in bed moaning, sip my mocha and watch videos of "Sleepless in Seattle", "When Harry Met Sally", and every Jane Austen movie ever made. 

Children.  You may eat stale cereal for breakfast as I have not and will not go grocery shopping today.  Deal with it.  Bond with your father.  Enjoy your time together.  I have a date with Mr. Darcy and a box of tissues. 


Pat said...

Admit it. You just want to hear Sally do her thing. "I'll have what she's having!"

Brenda said...

Awwww, poor Breezy. I hope you feel better. I will gladly kick your family's collective asses. lol