Can I interest you in a cough drop? I have cherry-honey or honey-lemon—I find them both to be equally headache-inducing.
Oh look, it’s the library’s whole “Mc…” shelf. I lacked the fortitude to be discerning. I think Secret Confessions of the Applewood PTA to be particularly worthy-looking, don’t you?
I hear you Lego Gorilla, oh do I hear you.
“Starve a fever, stuff a cold,” right? Isn’t that how it goes? The apple fritters were fresh from the oven so we went with it.
Why does he always insist on sitting in the blisteringly bright sunlight? Why, Internet, why?
My problems are not problems. I know this.
Feeling fluish while my parents have Gage? At least my parents have Gage—I should be grateful that I don’t have to take care of him while I’m sick. Have to cancel some of my plans for the week? Let’s face it, none of my plans are all that pressing. Not able to run around town making photographs? Not able to go out to dinner with S? Not able to enjoy happy hour with friends? Not able to organize my closets to the nth degree? Boo-hoo.
Send S to the store for ibuprofen and OJ and he comes back with the 24-count bottle of ibuprofen? Better than the time I sent him to the store for Tylenol (this was after I had my tonsils out) and he came back with some sort of travel packet containing exactly six (6!) Tylenol. Be grateful he is such a good sport about going to the store. Be grateful for the comic relief provided by whatever he comes back with.
Sure, it’s mildly annoying that my ongoing sinus issues are making me sick every four to six weeks. It’s mildly annoying that every time I get a sinus infection, I have to wait a week or so for it to get into full bloom before going to the doctor for drugs. It’s mildly annoying that my daily neti pot + Flonase regimen doesn’t appear to be reducing the rate at which my sinuses get infected. But I will get to the bottom of my sinus issues eventually, whether this means more allergy medication or surgery or whatever.
None of my difficulties are particularly difficult. My problems are small. I am fully aware of this. You’d think this knowledge would keep me from throwing myself a pity party, but unfortunately you’d be wrong. I am creative enough with the despair that I’m able to to throw myself a pity party because I’m not technically qualified for said pity party. Understanding the trivial nature of my difficulties only makes me feel sort of generally trivial, which in turn—in a feat of geometrical genius—allows me to feel sorry for myself not despite the smallness, but because of the smallness.
It’s ridiculous. I’m ridiculous. And now that I’ve written that out, let’s hope I’m able to move on.
Don't Feed the Animals 