The same internal diatribe runs rampant every time I feel under the weather. This recovery period has been no different. I think this might offer actual concrete proof that I am, indeed, looney.

Lou has terrible (insert current malady).

“Oh for heavens sake, quit faking. You’re not that dizzy. Suck it up, get out of bed, get to work. The dishes are filthy, the floors need sweeping , the children are running amok.”

“I do feel quite awful though. I ache in body parts I forgot I had. And I think my painkillers are wearing off.”

“Wuss.”

“No, really. This is actually pretty bad. I had surgery, you know.”

“Uh huh. A few sliced open gums and you’re incapable of a shower. Did I mention that the dishes aren’t doing themselves? And that they’re growing stuff? And that mold makes your house smell?”

“Oh- is that what that is? Ick. Yeah, somebody’s gotta do something about that.”

“And you’d be that somebody. You’re the MOTHER.”

*struggles to get both feet on the floor*

“Crap, I am so dizzy. Ugh. And my mouth seriously hurts.”

*breaks into a coughing fit due to aspirated yuk during a bad moment in surgery*

“Minor surgery you wimp. Minor. Quick the hacking. Get up, get moving. You should run to the store and pick up a few things. Do some laundry- and maybe some pilates while you’re up- you’re putting on weight you know.”

“Hey, now. It wasn’t that minor! I’ll have you know they found out my jaw bone had a nasty infection in it. Scooped it out with a little spoon it was so mushy and gross. There are some good explanations behind the headaches, fever and dizziness that have been keeping me down the past few weeks. And I really can’t do anything about the extra few pounds today. I’m tired.”

“YOU are a hypochondriac. Didn’t you just say they scooped out the infection? Meaning it’s gone? So what if your mouth is full of stitches and you are presently comprised 85% out of Jell-O? Things to do, man. And not just around the house. You are getting behind in work too! Who goes and has surgery the day of the 2nd largest scrapbooking trade show in the industry when she’s supposed to be doing the buying? Huh? Only an idiot. Dirty dishes AND work piling up.”

“Yeah. I know. I’m such a loser. I’ll get up now. I’ll shower.”

*takes a bath since it requires less effort, then crawls, exhausted, back into bed*

“Well, I’m done.”

“Pathetic. Just pathetic. Hey, at least you put on your jeans- I’d forgotten what you looked like without pajamas on, you big baby.”

“Yeah, jeans and a t-shirt. I’m dressed in the uniform of tough chicks who are going to go shovel manure and paint houses. I oughtta be able to muster some energy simply by being dressed for the occasion, right?”

“Right. Now. Up.”

*stands up*

“You know, if you’d just make the damn room stop spinning, we could work something out here.”

Seriously. This is what plays in my head whenever I’m sick. I think my conscience is a masochistic spin off of the Black Knight. Blood spurting everywhere and I’m supposed to be upright threatening to bite people’s legs off.