Boxes of cold medicine, cases of Kleenix, gallons of water. Like the volleyball, Wilson, in Cast Away, these items have become my best friends in the last five days. It’s all I’ve seen from my deserted island in my bedroom.
Unlike Tom Hanks, I did not become the hero of this movie by yanking myself up by my bootstraps and carrying on. No, not me. I wallow under my quilts while I sneeze and cough and moan.
And, unlike the movies, I’m not lying in bed with full makeup and beautifully arranged hair. My nose is red and raw, my eyes are stuck shut from some sort of self-producing super glue and my un-washed hair is plastered to my head.
I tried to get my act together long enough to get to my dentist for a long avoided teeth-cleaning appointment. But, honestly, if I saw me walking through the doors, I’d run for the isolation chamber.
You might want to go wash you hands after you’ve read this post.
Somehow I got up yesterday long enough to write this but was too out of it to actually click the Publish button. Sorry this is late, but my dog ate my homework? Ugh! I’ll come up with a better excuse later. Right now I’m going back to bed.