It takes far too much to stop me. I’ve been getting more and more ill for the last two weeks. I added Crossfit to the mix so I’m also exercising to extremes for a half hour a few times a week.
Personal turmoil is plentiful and I am hardly sleeping with a heavy heart. Being sick results in my saying far too many of my feelings out loud and my favorite man has heard plenty lately. Just when I think I’ve said it all and couldn’t possibly be more mortified, I do.
Bless his heart, he’s rolled with the coughing, sneezing and word vomit that my bronchitis has resulted in.
Then he caught it.
So when he needed something this morning, I got dressed, went to the store and got it for him. Driving there was terrifyingly surreal. Almost as much as standing in his kitchen, shaking my feverish head at myself. I haven’t been this sick in a long time and it hurts to move.
I washed the dishes, fed the animals and made him some tea.
I chopped some garlic and shallots into the chicken stock I brought that was simmering on the stove and went to rub his back.
Walking into his room and climbing into bed beside him was a hell of a mixed blessing. I’ve made some huge bargains with God to be where I was in that moment, but never in any of those fantasies were there head colds and fevers.
He’s hot and shivering. My head is pounding and I’m falling asleep next to him.. when he got weird.
There’s something about being sick and vulnerable that makes painful lessons twice as gut-wrenching. I sat up.
J- I’m gonna make you some some soup.
I- I don’t want any soup.
It was already cooking. I waited a few more minutes, shut it off and left without a word. Realizing by the way he’s acting that I was supposed to be more delivery driver than nurse.
Also coming to terms with the fact that I’m sick out of my own damn mind and had no business even getting out of bed.
Coughing, sneezing, feverish and miserable… but perhaps a little less inclined to kill myself for a guy that would be only too happy to let me.