Do I have pneumonia? I should probably get that checked out tomorrow. I know I have good health insurance through my parents, and yet, I feel totally incapable at using it.
Where do I go? What do I say?
None of this makes the least bit of sense to me. I've never believed I was sick until my body staggered and fell, a nation of cells caving under internal strife. And even then, it'll pass. I have a certain degree of denial when it comes to my body, I suppose, although perhaps in a slightly different way than, say, a teenage girl. If I were 20 years older, we could chalk it up to believing I'm young and healthy, in my prime.
The last time I remember being really sick, I was so zonked out I couldn't even get out of bed to do much of anything. At most I staggered to the washroom to drain myself of bile. Was I on meds? Probably. I don't really remember what I took. People threw pills at me. They landed in my mouth and slid down my throat.
I still don't know what I had. And it makes me think of ancient times: everyone exhibiting unmistakable signs of sickness, and only in our modern day can we give our afflictions names, a pale grasp to control them.
But you can't fight that cough. And despite rubbing your nose raw, the snot still drips onto your shirt at inopportune times. So don't go on dates when you're sick. Stay home. Enjoy the company of your favourite pillow. Drink something hot. Read something. Take a nap.
And really, who am I kidding. I just got home myself.
You can't control your afflictions by giving them names, so why serve them when they have titles?
Where do I go? What do I say?
None of this makes the least bit of sense to me. I've never believed I was sick until my body staggered and fell, a nation of cells caving under internal strife. And even then, it'll pass. I have a certain degree of denial when it comes to my body, I suppose, although perhaps in a slightly different way than, say, a teenage girl. If I were 20 years older, we could chalk it up to believing I'm young and healthy, in my prime.
The last time I remember being really sick, I was so zonked out I couldn't even get out of bed to do much of anything. At most I staggered to the washroom to drain myself of bile. Was I on meds? Probably. I don't really remember what I took. People threw pills at me. They landed in my mouth and slid down my throat.
I still don't know what I had. And it makes me think of ancient times: everyone exhibiting unmistakable signs of sickness, and only in our modern day can we give our afflictions names, a pale grasp to control them.
But you can't fight that cough. And despite rubbing your nose raw, the snot still drips onto your shirt at inopportune times. So don't go on dates when you're sick. Stay home. Enjoy the company of your favourite pillow. Drink something hot. Read something. Take a nap.
And really, who am I kidding. I just got home myself.
You can't control your afflictions by giving them names, so why serve them when they have titles?
