I Get Around

The most irritating thing you can ask a sick person is, "What do you have?"

Every time somebody asks, I come so close to shouting, "AIDS. Full blown AIDS." Do they want you to describe how many times you've vomited or nearly shat your pants in the previous hours? Are they hoping to catch you in a bold faced lie when you don't have a fast answer?

I'm not sure what I have, but I hope you're next. Now scan the damn DayQuil and STFU. 

And if you do answer, you're met with the inevitable, "It's going around." Seriously, make up any answer combining nose/ear/throat/stomach/bowels, and it's going around. 

I hope you're next. 

Of course, everything is 20x more irritating when you're sick. Like the fact that I live among my roommate's juicing habit. I've put up with it (off and on since he has commitment issues) for three years, but this morning, shuffling through the fridge looking for some OJ, I have to machete my way through stacks of rotting celery, spinach, carrots, three month old kale, and a heap of ginger. 

And hey, maybe I should have been the one juicing, since my empty bottle of red wine next to his 8-piece designer industrial juicer seems to be the closest thing to vital nutrients I get. But all I can think while curled up in the fetal position is, "Eat a f*cking apple and get over yourself."

But then I'm all, "You're right. I should take care of my body. The McDonald's I pity fed myself yesterday did not fix anything. Sick people eat soup, right?" So I go out to buy soup. 

Off to the store, just wanting two cans of soup, but there I am standing in line behind some bimbo and her boyfriend who can't figure out how to pay for their parking. The number one skill necessary to survive in LA. The dagger in the whole scenario? She's holding a cold pressed juice. Or fresh pressed juice, or what the hell is the difference between pressed, squeezed, and blended? Probably seven dollars and a minimalist label. 

Finally, some guardian angel in the form of an old crotchety dude shouts, "YOU CAN'T JUST KEEP STICKING IT IN!" and boy have I been THERE. 

So they walk away and Lord knows how they got out of the parking structure, but all I wanted to do was come home and eat my soup. 

I get home and make the soup, and then I remember I HATE soup. It's just a bunch of vegetables thrown into water. F&@#, I might as well have juiced. 

Back into the car I go - nauseous but somehow still starving - to McDonald's thinking, "Just take me now, God. Just take me now."

Survivor, 

TJB: Making It