There are two kinds of people when it comes to getting sick — those who want to be nursed back to health by someone else and those who want to die alone in peace.
I’m a die alone in peace kind of person. I blame this not just on my inherent introvertedness, but on the fact that my mom was not good with sick humans. She hates when we tease her about how awful she was when we were sick, but we do it anyway. She really was bad. She’d be furious if we puked anywhere but the toilet. My dad, on the other hand, was super good when we were sick.
This is a long way to say that I’m getting sick. I was okay all through dinner with Maxwell (yay!) and my brother-in-law, but once they were gone and the dishes were done I collapsed on the couch and pondered if 8:15 was too early to go to bed. The only reason I’m not in bed is that I don’t have the energy to go upstairs and I also had to write a blog post.
If you never hear from me again I died alone in peace, from a cold.