Here We Go Again

I have a story. A better story. I want to write it all down. I think it would be a good story.

I just hope it wasn't as lame as the last one.

And, of course, this means not paying attention to the boy...who, incidentally, wants to write his own story.

For those who know me well:

Boy: "Well, when I start writing, I have a tendency to ignore everything else and just focus on the writing."

Gosh, doesn't that sound like someone you know? In fact, I would welcome that...at least, then, I can get on with my writing without interruptions. Although we've had a breakthrough -- he's at least learned my "If you interrupt me one more time, I will seriously kill you" look...along with the "Are you aware that I'm contemplating your death" look. FINALLY. Ugh.

WHY do they take so long to train?

A Bit of a Rant...

...or, "How I feel unloved at the moment."

So I have mono. I never knew it was this bad. This sore throat thing is incredibly painful...I can't eat and have a hard time swallowing anything, including my meds and any pain relievers. I've lost over 20 pounds because of it and I'm starving all the time.

So my boy calls me up on this fine Labor Day and says, "Well, I was going to come over and spend the day with you, so I went jogging early..." so of course, with the best intentions, he falls and gets hurt. No big deal. Fine, I can understand that he won't join me because he's hurt. But then, he has the audacity to claim, "I bet I'm in more pain than you are."

Oh, no, he didn't.

I can't eat. I can barely drink water. I flinch everytime I swallow. Pain? I'm on vicadin which makes me nauseous, which makes me nervous because vomiting with a sore throat makes it that much more painful. I wake up crying in the morning because it feels like my throat's on fire and there's not a damn thing I can do about it. He can take aspirin and just be uncomfortably sore. I can't. He can still eat. I can't. I take three or four showers a day because I sweat so much but I don't really have a fever. I'm cold and clammy all over, I can't go to work, or go get coffee, or go drinking, or smoke, or do anything and this punk claims that he's in more pain than I am. I can't even talk, dammit, and boy was I pissed enough to say something even though it hurt like hell. When I'm better again, he's gonna get a good talking to, the kind where he gets mad at me for it. And I don't care. Why? Because I'm really sick and dammit, I'm not gonna take that.

Grrrr.