Sick

I guess my life has become rather pathetic. I was moved to tears the other day because I got a little space heater — and it worked. Seriously, just the act of warming up my room 10 degrees above freezing has made this a stellar week for me. If anything else goes right I’ll probably have to kill myself because I’ll know I’ve reached my peak and it just can’t get any better.

Last week I got sick. I hate being sick and living by myself in a freezing little closet of an apartment. There’s no one there to whine too and when you open the fridge and realize that all you have is a can of tuna fish but no can opener (why I bought this can without this all-important accessory in my possession is still a mystery to me) and some mustard, you have no one to go get food but yourself.

I bundled myself up and headed out the door. Sure, I looked like I had ebola and I’m pretty sure that fluids were dripping out of not only my nose but my eyes and mouth as well, but I was on my way. The market was only two blocks from my apartment so not too bad. Except I went when I was starving so I bought way too much and overestimated my arm strength. I had to stop and rest about five times on the lengthy two-block return trip. By the time I had returned home I was so exhausted that I had to take a nap before I was able to make any food.

But I wised up. Not wanting to go through this rigmarole again I headed to my mom’s place for the weekend where she fed me and turned her heater on.