All my weekend plans canceled and several tweets later about hating whatever this shitty illness was , I crawled back into bed and shivered. The heat I had set at 75, knowing it would be cold as crap outside. The windchill was to feel like -25 and I knew my failed thermal panes were going to be drafty on a whole new level of suck. Shelby curled up next to me, tucking her paws beneath herself and nuzzling under the covers for warmth. The day prior she avoided me since the apartment was warmer and I was clearly very ill. However, she decided it was best to be warm, and did not care as much that I was unwell this time.

I could hardly remember the night before. I recalled my mom and dad visiting after finding out I had called off of work. My mom wanted to scoop me up and have me stay overnight. I told her I’d come over to rest in front of the tv, but that I’d be much more comfortable sleeping at home. They fed me pizza and gave me meds. Meds that made me so drowsy I couldn’t stand it. So they took me home, and I supposed that I simply fell asleep when I got there. I could hardly keep my eyes open. 

I had managed a liquid diet of soups and tea when I awoke. I took a shower to help alleviate the mucus in my head and hopefully the pressure in my ears along with my achy joints and abnormally cold hands. The water had burned and scalded my skin, but I was so desperate for warmth and relief that I didn’t care. I inhaled the steam for at least twenty minutes before quickly cleaning myself. I dried my skin and put on several layers of clothes before opening the bathroom to the brutal cold of my apartment. I was winded and exhausted from dressing by then. So many layers just to feel a small but if comfort. My body shivered still. 

I tried to ignore my appearance in the mirror as I left the bathroom, but I couldn’t help but catch a glimps of a boyish round face with miserable eyes and an obviously red nose. My throat was raw that I could hardly muster a dissatisfied grunt. I’d be sure to refer my complaints about myself to my boyfriend later. Knowing he’d probably scold me softly for saying I was dissatisfied with myself, but I figured I’d give him fair warning for the future. Sick me was not a pretty encounter no matter what he said. He’d find out eventually. 

Crawling under my covers I heard my mom’s criticisms in my head about changing my sheets. I had them on my bed for a little over a month by then, and yes, they were clearly in need of a good wash. Yet they were the warmest sheets I had, and I was not ready to try to clean them and risk not having them on below freezing days. She had also commented on how much laundry I had collected in the past couple weeks. She recommended I bring my laundry with us before we left the evening prior. I told her I had no energy and since she was not so keen on helping me carry the loads of laundry, she crumbled under my protests and did not discuss the laundry further. I looked at the pile from beneath my down comforter. It loomed overwhelmingly in its corner and appeared to be seeping from the hamper and crawling across the floor. The room felt like it was swimming, and I felt dizzy as fuck. 

So I fell asleep, hoping it had a warmer embrace than reality. 


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