I'll try not to be too whiny, ok?
Web MD's symptom-checker does a great job of making me feel better.
It basically told me that I was on the verge of death.
(Web MD turns me into a hypochondriac.)
I think it's just a little bit of the flu, or a horrendous cold.
It's been an odd, off-again, on-again type of virus this past week.
It hit me hard last night. Generic robotussin saved the
I had a medicine hangover this morning when I woke up.
Oy.
I dragged myself out of bed to try to get ready for church. I thought maybe this cold could be taken care of by some heavy medication or something. I was on auto-pilot.
Mom and Dad were like, "Nope. You don't need to be sharing germs, and you need lots of rest, you poor thing."
I have great parents.
So I went back to my room.
I attempted to rest. Drowsyness started to creep up on me.
But then, I became my own worst enemy.
As I gazed blearily around my room, little details started to pop out. They irked me. I tried to dismiss them, but I couldn't.
That's one of the flags that I really must not be feeling so great: messed-up details and untidiness bothers me. I'm normally organized and tidy-ish, but not a freak about it. When I'm sick, obsessive compulsion pops out.
My room was a mess from this weekend.
I'm a girl, so when I get ready to go somewhere that requires dressing up, I pull out all the stops. I mean, I find lots of potential outfits, jewelry, shoes, makeup...and I strew them about the room. It must just be an ingrained girl-thing.
My sense of organization flies out the window.
Yesterday, there was a wedding. A beautiful wedding that I'll write about when I'm not feeling so crummy. I almost cried at how sweet it was. I met some lovely, fun people and had a great time.
As you know, weddings are events that require dressing up. Therefore, I turned my room into a giant closet.
I need to get better about such things, I know. My excuse is that I was helping my sisters get ready, too...
Anyways, I was in my room, thinking about resting, but the mess just bothered me.
I could not even consider the idea of sleep until I had restored a semblance of order.
So I gave in and cleaned and vacuumed, shuffling about in my purple fuzzy bathrobe, wondering why I was such a nutcase. I was a sight to see, I'm sure.
It's pitiful, but I feel contentment and peace now as I sit on my bed and see neatness and order about me in this happy green room.
I'm pretty sure there's something wrong with me being so tidy.
I don't really care.
Because, at long last, I'm going to sleep.
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