December 06, 2003 - 2:14 p.m.
Hey, remember last week, how I was complaining about what I thought were allergies? And I was all like, "I wish I would just go ahead and get sick already, so I can be miserable and get it over with?"
Remind me not to taunt my body like that again.
"He'd rather be sick, eh?" it thought, completely independently. "Let's see how he handles THIS!"
On Sunday, I felt a bit off. "I might be getting sick," I thought, and if so, I had to curse my body's sense of humor in timing. When I was a kid, it would always wait for long weekends and holiday breaks to get me sick, only to recover neatly right before school resumed. Now, when my obligation (a Job) actually pays me to show up, my body allows me to enjoy a four-day weekend only to crap out on me when my responsibilities resume.
Monday morning at around four AM I woke up and ran to the bathroom. The reason I did this is because I'd just had a dream about peeing. In the dream, for some reason I lived with my sister in a run-down house similar to the one in Fight Club. But my sister had transformed into a girl I knew in high school named Becca, and she painted big pictures of C-3PO hugging celebrities. Naturally, these paintings were not big sellers, and she kept having trouble making the rent. I guess we were arguing about that, and suddenly I had to pee. I ran to the bathroom and I started peeing, but since in real life I have bladder control, in the dreamworld I was unable to finish. It was actually sort of comical, as I spent about a full dream hour urinating, and I filled up the toilet and had to use a bunch of buckets that happened to be in the bathroom. Eventually I figured out what was really going on and woke myself up.
Anyway, my nose was going crazy and leaking all over the place-- I can't promise there won't be any more stories about my bodily fluids, but I'll try to reduce them-- so I couldn't sleep. I tried, but after an hour I gave up and got up and checked some weblogs, pretending I was going to get dressed and go to work at seven.
Seven rolled around but I felt really awful. And of course I was tired from not getting enough sleep. So I decided it wouldn't be a disaster if I stayed home from work and got some rest.
The next day I didn't feel any better, and a rotten pattern started to emerge. I would heavily medicate myself and take it easy the whole day, and in the evening I would start to feel markedly improved, but then the next morning I'd just wake up with a brand new symptom. Way to go me, daring my body to go and get sick, and knocking it out of commission for an entire week. Actually, there wasn't anything terribly wrong with me on Friday, but I'd knocked my sleep scedule completely out of whack and I figured more rest couldn't hurt anyway. I was hoping to wake up at nine this morning, then eight tomorrow, so I could be ready to wake up at at seven on Monday, but I slept right through my alarm and got up at noon today. Oops. It's been a while since I've done THAT.
I'm not too worried, though, because I'm expecting a Christmas bonus. Last year it was based on the number of hours worked, which, assuming a similar system is put into practice this year, should be pretty lucrative for me; not only have I been there for an entire year this time, but I've been working 40-hour weeks for quite a while now. Still, it would have been nice to have that money. And, uh, NOT BEEN SICK. But I always get sick in December, always. Usually on Christmas, which is probably one reason I can't seem to ever get in the Holiday Spirit. Christmas is associated with childhood memories not of toys and good cheer, but snot and vomit. Two days after Thanksgiving, I'm already quite ready to violently dismantle any speaker playing Christmas songs. Doesn't anybody else notice that it's THE SAME SONGS EVERY YEAR? How do people over the age of 30 not go completely insane in December? SOME of them even LOOK FORWARD to it! Unfathomable.
I think that's enough "bah, humbug" from me. Sorry. I should have a better time this week.
