I fell asleep five times heading to work this morning.
That’s a sad, scary and true statement. While I’ve been slowly recovering from whatever crud invaded my body, it’s taken a huge toll on the amount of energy that I have (also, my voice sounds like something out some apocalyptic depiction of hell). This whole week has been a wreck because of the illness, and I hope between writing some papers and working on a project, that I can recover some over the weekend.
That was my thought until about 12:30 PM this afternoon when I received a message from Darco…
I’m heading home early. When do you think you’ll be home?
Now, my wife is a working machine. She loves her job. If she lost an arm she would simply reply, “I can still pull the steam lever with the good one”. That’s how much she enjoys where she works, so if she’s ever going home early something is seriously wrong.
I came home to a crying wife with a thermometer in her hand that read “99.7°F” and beat red in her face.
My wife is now sick.
So, after a week of taking care of me, she’s now in bed for the next few days. The cat (AKA the dark one) is spazzing because a cat in heat is outside of our apartment, and I can barely keep my eyes open while typing this. This is on top of finding out that we were out of bottled water, Kleenax, and toilet paper. The laundry is piled up, dishes are dirty, floors need vacuumed, and truthfully we’re all just a nasty, sweat, hot mess.
Much of me is irritated at the reality that we’re in a mess, and it’s going to take a while to catch up on everything (except our cartoons). The other part of me though, as sadistic as it sounds, is so happy that in these moments I have a wife who takes care of me, and on the off occasion I can take care of as well.