Sunday, November 1, 2009

Time Out from Partying

What is it about our culture that says we don't have the time to be ill? And what is it about our culture that says if we complain about illness we are whining and really should get over ourselves? And what is it about our culture that says we have to have a really bad illness before we have the right to act like we're dying?

Okay... so maybe acting like I'm dying is a little extreme. However, I have not felt well for the past week and it doesn't seem to be going anywhere. Instead of renting space this amazing and disgusting amount of phlegm is taking up permanent residence and throwing a house warming party. It's moved from my sinus cavity to my lungs, and I have taken great joy in complaining about it to everyone I see.

That's right. I'm not sucking it up. I'm reveling in complaining about my illness. In fact, I feel entitled to a certain amount of sympathy from everyone around me. Afterall, I sympathize with all sorts of people when they aren't feeling well. Even when whatever is wrong with them is their own fault.

Example: My brother broke his foot while kicking puzzle mats. Really? Puzzle mats? They're soft and cushy and made for children! Of all the things he's kicked (heads, boards, concrete blocks, etc.) he breaks his foot on puzzle blocks. Did I laugh? Naturally. Did I mock? Of course. Did I sympathize? You better believe it. 'Cause in the end, he was in pain. He needed someone to say, "Dude, that sucks! I'm so sorry. Hope it feels better soon."

I expect sympathy. I really do. And I feel as though the rhinoceros on my chest has earned the respect of everyone around me and should be acknowledged.

Now stop running away when I cough.

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